As I've made no pretense about in the past, I am a total mommas-girl. Whenever a friend tells me a secret, it usually goes something like this.
Friend: Obviously, don't tell anyone about this.
Me: Well, obviously.
Friend: That includes your mum.
Me: Aw, what? She won't tell anyone.
Friend: That's not the point.
The point is, that if she wasn't six inches shorter then me, and in another country, I'd probably still insist on sitting in my mum's lap. That's just how it is. Being obsessed with my own mother has led me to being pretty interested in how mothers that aren't my own behave. Because you spend so much of your young life hanging around in the bedrooms of your friends, you come into contact with all the weird mothers on the weird mother spectrum, and below are some of the most common.
The ‘I’d Rather Have it Under My Roof’ Mum
When I was a teenager, mothers like these would crop up every couple of years, and at first you thought it was a God send. You are initially swayed by these mothers when they’re fixing you a vodka over homemade tapas and asking you – asking you – if you have a spare fag. She reassures you that she remembers what it was like to be a teenager and that she knows you’ll be drinking anyway and she’d feel much more comfortable if it happened under her roof where she knows you’re safe.
I’ve italicized every other word in that sentence because this is total bollocks. She doesn’t really care if you’re safe, she just really, really wants to be liked by you. This in itself is a bit sad. These mothers tend to have a sense of arrested development, whereby their lives have never really moved on since secondary school. If they have any friends their own age, they’re the girls they went to school with. Amy Poehler’s Mean Girls performance got this woman pitch-perfect.
Mrs. George: I'm a cool mom! Right Regina?
Regina: Please stop talking.
You thinking this woman is cool will end the moment she asks you if you’ve “gone all the way yet”.
The Third Person Mum
“Is Caroline staying for dinner?”
“Is Caroline’s mother picking her up?”
I’m right here. LOOK AT ME. ACKNOWLEDGE ME.
The Battered Mum
The Battered Mother is one that crops up often on the Irish parenting scale, and you don’t remember her, because these mothers have long-since lost their sense of identity to their horrible families. All mums complain about spending all their time cooking and cleaning, but this mum has reached the point that cooking and cleaning is now all she knows, and will ever know, unless she has a mid-life breakthrough á la Shirley Valentine.
|If you haven't seen the movie Shirley Valentine, you need to .|
These mums are the ones that can’t understand why you’re talking to them or asking them questions. You’ll discover this when your friend disappears briefly, to get their coat or whatever, and you’re stuck in the worst conversation you’ve ever had. This mum has no hobbies, or interests. She has not seen any good movies or read any good books lately. She has no opinions on Brangelina or Kate Middleton or Take That or any of the usually safe mum-friendly pop culture areas. She will, however, offer you a sandwich.
The Touching Mum
This might be a personal thing, but people who touch you too much freak me out. This mum will hug you when she meets you for the first time, and every consecutive time she meets you. She’ll call you ‘Honey’, and brush her hand off your shoulder when she walks by. Obviously, she’s not some kind of sex pervert, but she probably has some kind of affection deficit in her life. Or maybe she is a sex pervert, who knows.
The No Qualms Mum
The only thing worse than a mum who is only too aware of you being in the house is a mum that does not give a shit you are there at all. These are the mums that will openly scream at your friend about them failing an exam/coming home drunk/ leaving the immersion on. Meanwhile, you stand idly by, looking at your hands and wishing you were dead. This mum is a renegade, and she has no qualms about dragging you into family business if it means she might win an argument or make an incredibly vague point about respect. She’ll pause mid-rage, seemingly to catch her breath, and you’ll think it’s over. You’ll look up from your hands and find that you’ve somehow found your way into her field of vision.
“DO YOU TREAT YOUR MOTHER LIKE THIS, CAROLINE?”
There is no good way to answer this question.