I don’t want to sound like a bitter, twisted, old gin-lush (although I’m mostly proud of being all these things) but let’s be honest about the myth that is ‘Mother’s Day’…
It’s supposed to be a celebration of motherhood. But what it mostly is, is an opportunity for you to be crushed by immense disappointment at the point where you’re most vulnerable… with wine.
So here’s some of the realities of Mothering Sunday for us all to cry and drink gin over:
The Dream : A lie-in.
The Reality : Everyone wants to lie on top of you because they love you soooooooo much. And the bastard shitting clocks go forward this month.
The Dream : Beautiful flowers (yes, ones that have a little card and are actually not from a reduced bucket outside a petrol station) and some posh chocs…
The Reality : A limp, slightly chewed daffodil that smells of fox piss and a twix.
The Dream : Expensive champagne.
The Reality : Wine. From Aldi. In a mug. With a straw for you to blow your own bubbles into.
The Dream : A bath.
The Reality : A quick rub under the arm-pits with a baby-wipe while the cats groom the marmite from behind your ears…
The Dream : A posh lunch.
The Reality : A Pot Noodle with the water already poured in. Eaten with a Thomas the Tank Engine fork.
The Dream : To feel beautiful and worshipped by your family.
The Reality : You receive a portrait of you with a beard and a penis from the toddler. Plus – you just found an actual piece of human shit in your fringe.
The Dream : Lavish gifts.
The Reality : A pasta necklace and a card made out of a sock. And your own tears…
The Dream : To wear an actual dress. Without leggings.
The Reality : Bras hurt. And yes. It is possible for your actual skin to fuse with your spanx.
The Dream : A day of relaxation where you don’t have to lift a finger…
The Reality : Someone’s pissed on you. And you’re so twatted gin comes out of your nose when you laugh.
The Dream : To not feel disappointed.
The Reality : The realisation that this is as good as it’s ever gonna get… but you actually [email protected]*king love that conchigelle-based-bangle and alcohol is better out of a mug anyway.