Monday, September 03, 2007

A pot-filled Sunday of motherly confusion.

First a little history...
I don't smoke. I don't smoke grass, hash or any other kind of narcotic.
I don't iron, the paramour irons his own shirts if he needs one ironed.
I don't cook a lot, he cooks, he likes cooking. I like making the occasional meal, but that's it. I prefer my food handed to me and, left to my own devices, I'd eat the same meal daily.
Because of this my mother, the lilac couch, was shaking her head in stunned non-silence. She doesn't do silence.
'I can't believe you wouldn't even iron a shirt for him.'
Quoth she. Yesterday afternoon. Here.

'It's not that I wouldn't iron a shirt for him. I don't refuse, he doesn't ask. Apparently he is perfectly capable.'
'Does he do all the ironing?"

This is a strange one, what 'all the ironing' is she talking about?

'What are you talking about?"

She waves her hand at the window. Does she think we should iron them? The bigger of the cats- who is wet from being outside - jumps on the window ledge glares at my mother and jumps down again. Hee heee, I think to myself. Maybe she means I should iron you.
' What about T-shirts and things, jeans and pants, the duvet covers?'
I laughed and tore a peach apart with my bare hands. It was the most delicious peach I had ever eaten.
'I've never understood people who iron duvet covers- ah!' I put up my hand-'I know you do, and I know you iron underwear. I just never understood it.'
'What about blouses?'
'What about them?'
'Do you iron them?'
'Nope.'
She checks me out. I'm wearing black trousers and a sleeveless v-neck top. There are no visible wrinkles. She is perplexed.
'I hang things very well.' I inform her. And it's true, I fold and hang most excellently.
'Well,' says she.' Some things need ironing.'
'True.'
She waits. But I say nothing. I offer her some of my peach, she refuses with a sharp shake of her head. And finally her shoulders slump and she is even more perplexed. There is no argument. I'm not getting irked with her. I'm not even rolling my eyes.
'I joined Weight Watchers again.' She says most crafty like, easing forward on her stool, her eyes narrowing.
'Good, You did very well with them the last time. Well done.'
I continue to eat my peach. I hum. I smile. I wonder if I'd like a glass of milk, or a hot chocolate, maybe some cheese-
She shifts uncomfortably. 'I suppose you think I'm mad.'
'No, no, I think it's terrific. And why not? If not why not? That's what Gamma used to always say. Wasn't it Foster and Allen she used to listen too?'
'Yes.' And now I've upset her. I can tell, she's baffled, bewildered, flummoxed.'Well, I suppose I'd better be getting on. I'm heading over to Etheline's.'
'Oh.'
We wait. Clearly I"m supposed to say something. But all I can think of are the words 'then came a lusty sailor, who by chance did pass her way', and that won't do.
'Tell her I said hello.'
My mother peers at me. 'Thanks for the tea.'
'Oh your welcome, call in anytime.'
I get up and walk to the front door with her, before she can open her big yap I bend down and give her a kiss on the cheek.
And now she is completely freaked out. She clutches her bag to her chest and holds the car keys between us.
'Right so, right. I'll give you a shout during the week.'
She bolts, a purple haze, a panoply of purple.
'Okay.' I beam and wait in the door, despite the rain, until she makes it to the car. She gives me one more confused searching glance and climbs in.
I wave.
She over revs the engine, before tearing off up the road in the wrong gear.
I continue to wave until I feel thirsty.
I return to the kitchen and am presently joined by the Bigger of the Cats who is wet and grouchy.
I make hot chocolate in the microwave and am drinking it when the paramour returns from football training.
'Hello.' I say.
'Holy Crap!' he says, 'You should see your eyes, they're almost black.'
'Really?'
'Did you eat more of those brownies?"
He opens the fridge and laughs. 'You had two?"
'My mother was coming.'
'Hahhahahaha Cat.' He says.'You're stoned off your mallet.'
I grin and take another swig of my hot chocolate. It's the most delicious hot chocolate I have ever drunk.
French Gay really makes the most excellent brownies, even if he is a bit heavy handed with the chocolate.

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16 Comments:

Blogger Conan Drumm said...

Best couch encounter ever. So what did she say to Ethyline about your being so chilled and not rising to her usual sniffing, nagging remarks, and wind-up strategies?

11:25 a.m.  
Anonymous MacDara said...

Fantastic stoned with out knowing it what a great feeling. Dont be telling twenty as he seems to be on a clean up Ireland campagin.

I think all the work has addled his brain.

11:31 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Work and Twenty, it's just shock. Machawt, shock.
I don't know Conan, I spent the rest of the afternoon, reaing the papers and snoozing and eating and not answering the phone. I'm sure there was plenty said.

11:41 a.m.  
Blogger Medbh said...

How fucking funny, FMC!
It was like you had a THC protection shield. Deflect all maternal nitpicking.
When your mom is with the Paramour does she tear you down for not being his slave with the cooking and ironing and such?

1:54 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

She makes the odd comment here and there, but he's a dab hand at ignoring her.
I suppose she's of a different generation and that's it. I mean, she raises her eyebrow to the fact that I do most of the DIY here and was gobsmacked to find that it was me and not the Paramour who rehung the garage door a few weeks ago.
But really, brownie defence, I highly recommend it! HIGHLY. snarf.

2:50 p.m.  
Blogger PI said...

K don't know why but that brought a tear to my eye. I wanted to give your Mum a hug - or knock your heads together . I'm not sure which!

3:41 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Good lord, if perfect strangers started to be kind to her on top of my refusing to rise to the bait she'd be really worried.

3:52 p.m.  
Anonymous Nonny said...

Wow, would have never thought that your style. I could really do with a few of those brownie's now though.

4:18 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

It's not, but who am I to tune up my nose at goodies from FG. Who indeed!

4:22 p.m.  
Anonymous Shebah said...

Brilliant post, FMC. LOL. Next time, get a few extra from FG and share the special brownies with your mum! Har.

4:26 p.m.  
Blogger Kim Ayres said...

For a moment I was beginging to think it was a case of the Stepford Daughters

4:33 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

What ho Shebah, I nearly would but I'd be afraid she'd call 'round more often looking for them.
Kim, it was all very odd. She told Etheline she thought I might be pregnant as I was very 'off' yet I 'had a real glow about me.' and she used to get like that when she was pregnant. When I told Etheline the real reason for my 'glow' she nearly died laughing. HAH!

6:55 p.m.  
Anonymous laughykate said...

I reckon the brownies would have made the ironing fun.

12:54 a.m.  
Blogger Manuel said...

"I prefer my food handed to me" by a professional I hope....

Got that bloody song in my head now too. Thanks for that. Actually its a rather odd song when you think about it...

1:19 a.m.  
Anonymous Primal Sneeze said...

For once it was you who was a bit cookie not the purple couch. Deadly!

You still had some of your wits about you though. I'd call it an accidental under dose.

5:54 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Nothing on earth could making ironing fun, not even opium-although...
Manuel- I'm so sorry, but it is odd one and very hummable.
Sneezy, as a non smoker or normal nibbler, two was plenty, and seeing as I spent the rest of the afternooon snoozing and grining like a loon at the velly worst crap on the telly I think I was well medicated.

9:13 a.m.  

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