My mother's an idiot and a Hoffy Ginger day to you all.

Though it is only 21 days into November, houses, shops and entire streets are lit up like a Christmas tree. Exhausting I think, and doesn't it rather kill the anticipation of the holidays?
Anyhoo, what is NOT exhausting is discovering that my mother, the Lilac Couch, the biological incubator, Medusa, Gorgon, wearer of 3/4 length pants, has raised her warfare game.
Allioop!
My oldest friend on the planet is getting hitched in the year that follows. Her mammy and the Lilac Couch have been friend for nigh on forty years. Naturally she has been invited to the ceremony, an invitation she has declined as 'that one' (me) will be there. She then went on to make some rather spectacular slurs against my friend all culminating with a ' she's lost the run of herself that one' ( not me, friend).
Now upon hearing this I guffawed. I will be there indeed, wearing a bridesmaid dress no less and trying hard not to cry. My friend's wedding means a very great deal to me and I wouldn't miss it for all the world. Not for all the rum in Jamaica.
'What does she think I'm going to do anyway?" I asked my friend, after I had apologised for my mother's terrible cuntiness. 'Rugby tackle her on sight?'
'I don't know what she thinks,' my friend said, 'but she can go to hell now, this wedding isn't about her.'
Quite.
'And I'll be telling her that and a few other things when I run into her, the bloody cheek of her.'
Oh it's on! Whatever about crossing me, that's one thing, crossing my friend? I wouldn't do that for all the rum in Jamaica neither. If you can imagine a small perfectly fiery bomb in heels that would be a fitting description.
Parents eh? Will they never learn? Snarf and Eeep.