Life : Mother’s Day : Large Pants & Lacy Gussets?
It’s a fact: mothers live most of their lives in their pyjamas and sequined slippers. Oh, and they enjoy cooking. And when they’re not enjoying cooking, they like to watch DVDs about cooking or read books about cooking, presumably still in their pyjamas. At least that’s what the latest assortment of ‘Mother’s Day’ catalogues to arrive in my mailbox tell me. The overwhelming message contained in those colourful pages seems to be: You will never get dressed and leave the house again so you may as well try to look good and oh, while you’re trapped there, be a love and cook something why don’t you. Here’s a cupcake maker and the collected works of Danielle Steele for your troubles.
Yes indeed, there are precious few red velvet cocktail frocks depicted in those catalogues. Why, some of these cataloguians are obviously in such deep denial that they are wearing nightwear-as-daywear, because they’re accessorising themselves with ye olde decorative scarf. As a non-fan of the decorative scarf (unless I’m trying to cover up an obvious red wine stain on the school run), I am even more of a non-fan of the decorative scarf with pyjamas. Not only does it present a real strangulation and fire risk (when cooking in pyjamas), but it looks stupid. You have been warned, mothers-in-pyjamas-wearing-decorative-scarves.
Okay, okay, so I admit it: I secretly love those catalogues, even if their gift suggestions are in no way representative of what I want or need as a mother (e.g. a bottle of duty free vodka with a curly straw and/or the opportunity to have an uninterrupted shower-slash-nap-slash-crap) or what I’ll actually get (e.g. a pencil “holder” tentatively made out of patty pan cases and paddle pop sticks). As a working mother who doesn’t get to hang out with too many other parents these days, I like to look upon these catalogues as way of catching up on what my peers are doing. For example, “Oooh! Must. Wear. More. Animal. Print!” and “Damien Leith did a Roy Orbison tribute album, eh? Rock! And! Roll!”
There is one thing that disturbs me, though, and that’s the lingerie page. I mean, who is buying those sexy bras and undies for Mother’s Day? Do six year old children really want to give their mums a ‘lacy gusset’ or a hot pink g-string? Are grown men buying these things for their aged mothers? Or are husbands buying lingerie for their wives in the hope of being able to call them ‘Mummy’ when they wear it? Whichever way you look at it, it’s a whole world of wrong.
In any case, I look upon the gift of lingerie as not really being a gift for *me*. Unless, of course, it’s a pair of those breathable cotton undies that you pull up just under your armpits and which hug all your fatty bits tight and say “All is forgiven!”. But then again, if my partner *were* to give me a pair of those for Mother’s Day, I’d probably wonder what the hell he was trying to tell me, get all huffy and then feel completely disinclined to Damien-Leith-tribute his Roy Orbison any time soon. If you know what I mean.