Yes, my mother is still here. Yesterday I was sitting in the bath with my husband, trying to figure out why my mum is irritating me more than usual. In fact, why I have tension behind my eyes, at the back of my neck and even at the bridge of my nose. And when I asked my husband about it he said, "She's going senile." So that's the answer to it all, thank God. The answer to why she tells the same stories over and over again. The answer to why she gives me advice about this, that and the other when I haven't asked and the reason she asks me fifty times, "where is the flour?" instead of looking for it.
By the way, I recently had a sexual ephiphany. I am not one of those women who orgasms at the drop of a hat or the flick of a tongue (do those women even exist outside of the Penthouse letters page?). Usually it has to be: candles, quiet, he does this for five minutes, then does that for ten minutes, then I do this to him for five minutes, etc etc, until the big explosion. Well guess what, the other day I was in bed with my husband nearing the big finale when my mother shouts up the stairs: "Where's the pasta?"
I shout back: "In the corner cupboard!"
Rustling, banging, clanging. "I can't find it!"
"IN THE CORNER CUPBOARD. THE ONE IN THE CORNER!!!!" Please don't come up the stairs.
Saucepan bangs on floor. Sausage screams, "That's my Barbieeeeeeeeeeee! Give me my Barbie."
Mother: "Yes! I have found it. It was in the corner cupboard, not the one over the cooker where I was looking. Why didn't you say so?"
And after that interruption I still managed not to lose my cool and climax. I've come a long way baby. I'm going to pat myself on the back for that.
I guess you think I am a bit negative about her. But on the upside, one of the best things she ever did for me was make me lose weight. I put on a lot after I had the first baby (seven years ago) and when Scarlett was six months old I went to Austria about thirty pounds overweight. Basically she put me on a diet and made me walk five hours a day. Also she'd make me swim across the Danube, like, twenty times, and when I climbed out she'd say, "Six more laps and you can have a stick of celery." And in I'd go again.
It worked like a dream and all the flab melted away. But then the next summer I put it all on again (well most of it), and every summer she whittled it away, and I yo-yoed back and forth. Then a couple of years ago I started going to the gym and it stayed off for good. But if it hadn't been for my mother telling me, "You are so fat. It is terrible! Why you keep stuffing your face?" well, maybe by now I would be one of those lock-ins who has to be craned out of a window. Actually my husband said he'd leave me if I got that fat again, which may seem cruel but I think is fair because frankly I'd leave him if he became fat. Call me superficial.
Emma's plans to roast a cow were shelved when she heard a Hindu had been invited to the party
And now at my mum's request I am having this huge party. I've already invited twenty-five guests. It is going to be a barbecue and my husband has invited a Hindu and I'm not sure how I'm going to cook whatever I'm going to cook for the Hindu (who doesn't eat cows), on a grill full of hamburgers. I suppose I could cook a veggieburger on one side of the grill. But whichever way you slice the cake I'm going to have to roll up my sleeves and wash the grill, which hasn't been washed for five years. In fact there are many things in this house that haven't been washed for five years and my mother has made me wash them all. Which can only be a good thing, can't it. So why do I feel like killing myself?
Luci Mcquitty Hindmarsh
5 hours ago