Friday 28 February 2014

Being a civilized citizen. Not Mother's strong point.

Mother's incapability to behave as a sane member of society has returned. I shall take a trip down memory lane for those of you who are new to this story. I don't believe it's a popular one.

Several summers ago (I must have been about ten), Mother is trailing through Marks & Spencers with me in her fabulous sarong (bought from our then-recent holiday to Hawaii) and a skimpy vest. As we are on the escalators, Mother's sarong gets caught in  between the mechanisms. This is HIGHLY unfortunate. All of a sudden Mother's sarong is whipped off, exposing a scantily-clad parent perched on the escalators of M&S, shrieking at me in a raging attempt to get me to rescue her delicate sarong from the stairs that are about to guzzle it. There is zero concern about Mothers state (knickers and vest in the middle of a busy store). Obviously, the security guards hear Mother's panic and run to assistance... with towels and blankets to resurrect her dignity. Mother did not want this and began shoving these two men away; "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! SAVE MY SARONG! SAVE MY SARONG! QUICK! IT'S FROM HAWAII!"
 - Do any of you remember the magazine 'Mizz'??? Pre-teen mag? Well, as it happens, I sent this story into the 'embarrassing stories' column and it was published! Entitled; 'It's all gone sarong'... I found this highly amusing. Mother was mortified.

So, back to 2014. We seem to have had a similar situation. I should mention that similar mishaps have occured before, I have simply been lucky enough to not be present. Not quite such luck last week though.

Waltzing into the DIY store (yawn) and Mother is in her element. A few minutes later and Mother emerges from the ladies room...

A few paces into the store and a heavily embarrassed woman has hobbled up behind us. For some reason she has crouched down to an uncomfortable level and is prodding at Mother's skirt. Oh.

"Uhhmm, sorry... I just... Umm.. You seem to have... your skirt is... sort of... I think you may have accidentally... Just... Can I just... Let me... Ummmm..... sorry..."

Absolutely marvelous. Mother has peered down behind her and discovered she's managed to tuck her gloriously-vivid, sequined, lace, tweed skirt into her not-so-glorious knickers. As I turn around, I spot the two security guards giggling into their radios. The customer service team has huddled together; watching intently. Other shoppers are looking rather afraid, actually. They shuffle past. As much as the woman may have been trying to help deter any attention, I actually think she may have attracted it. With her strange crouch and red face.

Mother, however, is unperturbed. She makes a slothful wave at her skirt in hopes that the two items will become detached. She thanks the poor woman and proceeds to make very little effort to complete the un-tuck. Clearly, I must take over. I must save any dignity left. I shamble Mother into the curtains department and restore her skirt to an appropriate length.

I apologise to anyone who now has a vivid image of the scenario. I can assure you, I have made an accurate recount.

I will do a full check before Mother addresses the public in future.

xoxo

Tuesday 25 February 2014

"Expectation is the root of all heartache" - William Shakespeare

Being the perfectionist that Mother is doesn't always constitute a successful outcome. Proven strongly the other night when we decided to eat out post-shopping. Considering our choices have now narrowed down to approximately two eateries within a twenty mile radius, we were heading towards the American diner at the mall when suddenly Mother stops. She's spotted the waiter. The waiter that has been chatting her up for about three months. I'm all for this prospective new relationship (he's from Atlanta, ergo trips to the states) however Mother is definitely not interested and finds his continuous advances somewhat of a pester.
"No, darling. I don't think we can eat here after all... QUICK! He's spotted us! Oh GOD!"
We shuffle away.
We then end up outside an Italian. Beautiful interiors and just up Mother's street; there's even tiny twinkle lights in the ceiling like stars. The waiter is trying quite hard to jazz up this Italian in hopes of persuading us to eat there.
"Hmm. Is there an a la carte menu?"
"No madam, this is a buffet-style restaurant..." *a fancy tailored description of 'how it works' is then offered to us*
"No. I don't like that. That's not what I want.
"... ok..."
"You see; I very much would like to try your restaurant. The problem is, I won't do buffet. It's just not something I do. Can't you do an a la carte menu?"
"I'm sorry madam, we only do buffet"
"Why is everywhere a bloody buffet?! You see, this is the problem. This is precisely the problem in Spain. I should run this place, I guarantee more people would eat here. I really don't understand why they can't just put a regular menu on for people like me, darling!"

Naturally, this is mildly embarrassing for me and I back up a little bit so as not to be obviously associated with Mother. She then spots the German restuarant next door. It is briefly considered before; "Oh no wait a minute I don't like German food do I? It's all meat! Yuck. I'm on a diet. I think. Yes, I'm on a diet, aren't I darling?"

After much fluster (on Mother's part... obviously. I rarely fluster), Mother decides to leave the mall alltogether and head to the trusty Italian near home.

Upon arrival, however, Mother's face drops. My eyes match her line of vision and fall upon a Spanish Elvis. This is a terrible sight for Mother. Having lived here for over a year now, Mother has become almost allergic to the many Costa Blanca Elvis'. Trying to avoid them has become a priority for her... although apparently it proves difficult.

"Oh my God... I can't believe it! I just can't believe it! Perhaps we should go"

Mother then proceeds to enquire; "will this man be here much longer or is he leaving soon? Is he staying?!"

"No madam, he's leaving in a minute..."

*obnoxious sigh of relief*

I then begin opening my menu...

"NO! STOP! Do not open your menu until he leaves!"

It is now that I notice Mother is still wearing all outer layers. Despite the warmth of the restaurant and our neighbouring diners eyeing Mother's red face. Stubborn Mother refuses to contribute to the evening until fake-Elvis is out of sight.

Finally, Elvis leaves and Mother is taking her first sip of wine.
Oh. Apparently this is also disappointing.

"YUCK. *makes baby-tasting-lemon face* Ughhh! Nope. This is not the wine I had last time! I don't like it! Vinegar. Bloody hell! We should have gone home. That way I know my wine is good."

The angry observations continue;

"For goodness sake! They couldn't make any more noise if they tried! Listen to them bashing the china around like that- OH MY GOD she's just scraping the chairs under the table! *grimace* Oh come on really now?! They ought to upgrade their coffee machine - it sounds like a rocket landing! It needs foyer music in here you know. It's far too hot in here, wouldn't you agree? We're not all freezing cold! GOD it's like a sauna!"

Mother then asks me what I'm ordering and I make the mistake of telling her.

"Pizza"
"WHAT KIND OF PIZZA OMG you can't just say pizza!"
*I slowly point...*
"Hmmm that sounds ni- EGG?! No, darling. You won't like that. You can't have that. It's horrible, I'm sure. No. YUCK! Choose something else."
"Umm... actually I do like it... I always have it... but thank you for your input..." I nearly add; "scary Mary" but decide against it.

So, that sums up the evening. I will also inform you all that this is certainly not a rare sequence of events. However, fear not! I have become immune.

Also, I have since managed to train Mother to alter her thought processes. Kind of like dog-training. Cognitive therapy, if you will. Loosely using the title of this post.