Friday 19 November 2010


Recently a Russian woman living in Moscow called and told the police that her daughter was about to blow up a plane. Not just any plane, but the very plane her daughter was taking from Moscow to Morocco to go marry a man the mother didn’t like. Of course the daughter had no plans to blow anything up, she was just trying to get to the man with whom she recently fell in love. Take about dedication to the dislike of your child’s choice of partners. This isn’t just ‘I forbid it, or please don’t sweetheart, you barely know him.’ This is, “if you don’t listen to me, I’ll go Jack Bauer on your ass and have you arrested!” Of course after the police detained the mother for making a terrorist threat, she confessed she had made it all up. And of course what did the daughter do once she was cleared of all wrongdoing…flew to Morocco of course. I am thinking that Mom will not be sitting in the front pew of that wedding, and mom and daughter are looking at one hell of a therapy bill.

As some of you know, I’m one of five girls. That meant that over the years there was a boat load of unsuitable and unsavory types coming through the front door that we as children of course deemed suitable and perfectly savory. It went something like this….’But Mom, I want to live in a garage, we’re artists!...he does have a job, he just doesn’t make any money at what if he has blue hair and rap sheet, he’s really deep and he loves me!’

I have to hand it to my mother; for the most part she was a real trooper and didn’t say much when we dragged the boyfriend of the moment over the threshold. I was of course all passion fueled, swearing that I would love these individuals until the end of the world (or until next Friday, whichever came first). She’d just nod, and I’m assuming at the time was chewing the inside of her cheek off so as not to say anything, and wait till the relationship ran its course. Which it always did. And don’t get me wrong, this acquiescence on her part did not happen over night. There were times she weighted in with her opinion, which of course was then met with a full-scale rebellion. I think she quickly realized that surrender was the easier option in the face of the fickle minds of women.

I am hoping that when it comes to the King – that is my son to yee recent converts of my blog -  I am as reasonable and rational as my mother…the jury is still out on that one however. I'm fiery like my father and don't always pick sense and rationale as the first port of call. Hey, at least I can recognize my flaws. I must admit that I fear if the King ever brings home some gum chewing, Lucite heeled, pole-swinging floozy, I may have to put Heathrow on speed dial. 

I kid, I kid (sort of).

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