The Vagenda

She’s a Mummy, Not a Meme

One of our contributors writes hilarious facebook statuses of things her mum has said. This is not a meme, this is real parenting.

“How EXACTLY do high heels work? I mean, how can they make all of you taller when they only elevate your heels and your toes are still on the ground?”

ACTUAL conversation, 6pm: “Mum, two men asked me out today. They were a bit old for me but it was very flattering.” “Hmm, yes, you’re probably being trailed by undercover police because of all those dodgy jobs you apply for.” (‘dodgy’ being ‘in the media.’) “or.. I just looked nice?” “You’re right – they’re probably perverts!”

Mum on the joys of parenthood (in the presence of both my sister and I): “At 29, I told everyone I’d hate to have kids.” “Mum, you were pregnant with me when you were 29.” “Ah yes. Anyway, I had you, didn’t I? And then a few years later I missed the Pill and accidentally had your sister.”

It was followed later by, “I missed the Pill because I was distracted by having a new boyfriend”

Mum rang me this morning to give her stance on life. “If there’s one thing I know, and one thing I’ve always known, it’s that all Irish men have a horse.”

The Christmas decoration conversations/screaming arguments have come round again. At Mum’s house, only black and brown angels are allowed on the tree, to maintain ethnic diversity, since the whole family is white after all. My Dad’s view on Christmas trees? “They’re too mainstream.” HAPPY DECEMBER

Mum rang to describe her experience of going to Waterstone’s. “I walked in, and the first thing I saw was this GIANT MAN IN A CAPE. Immediately I knew that we would get on like a house on fire, so I took him to lunch. He knew a lot of interesting historical facts, which was why he was wearing the cape.”

Mum calls and I’m about to go out so I say I’ll call her later. Her response? “Oh, is that because you’re going to a garden centre?” Well, no, Mum. Because I’ve never been to a garden centre recreationally. And I don’t have a garden. And it’s winter

Mum on attention to detail: “the man in that advert looks like your dad. Well, he’s a white man anyway.”

Mum on biology: “I’ve always believed that it’s quite unhealthy to have only one set of genes

“Standing on the doorstep waiting for my auntie to answer, Mum suddenly says: “Sshh! Let’s pretend we’re both crying! We can pretend something bad has happened and then surprise her by saying it hasn’t.” There are no words.

Mum has been collecting data on my personality in the last few days, apparently, and the following things have been taken into account: 1. I told her that “turning the heating off” would not be a fair punishment for my youngest sister’s misbehaviour. 2. I responded to, “Here – take this earwig!” with, “Oh God! No! Don’t give that to me!” Her conclusion, which she just delivered to me summarily, was that I am “way too high maintenance.” Touch√©

Just found Mum shamelessly following the semi-documentary ‘Seven Dwarves.’ Her totally straight-faced excuse was that “most” programmes on TV involve following dwarves nowadays, as the media is undergoing a “dwarf Renaissance”

Mum’s advice to a small child scared of monsters under the bed: “Don’t be ridiculous. If there really were monsters, we’d all live in one room, with reinforced metal doors, and take turns to guard it with weapons. Do you think I’d be staying in this house if there were monsters? I’D be the FIRST one out!”

over the last two weeks, I am ashamed to admit that my mother and I have become increasingly hysterical about the idea that our cat might be stressed. This started with the purchase of ¬£40 worth of feline pheromones to spread around the house, and culminated today with the dragging away and throwing out of what Mum became convinced was a ‘haunted sofa.’ Strangely, however, the cat is now fine

In my absence, the apocalypse has hit the family bathroom. Mum has filled the bathtub with soil and inadvisedly replaced all the toilet paper with menthol tissues. All questioning has proved futile. Trying to initiate a discussion on the soil just ended up with her asking how i would protect myself against a biological smallpox attack, considering my generation didnt get the smallpox vaccine.

Mum on social etiquette: “There are actually some times when you SHOULDN’T just mindlessly call someone a chav, and one of those times is when that person’s father is missing a leg.”

home from work, and mum is attempting a ‘sped up’ version of moussaka. Thus I walked through the door to a thorough drenching in the boiling hot white sauce she’d put an electric whisk into, while she threw blocks of cheese at a plate of aubergines, screaming, “Grate yourselves, bastards!” and brandished a fly-swatter in one hand as wasps gathered round some smoking butter

“I just saw the most idyllic man on a TV programme. He was like the ideal husband – the kind I wish I had. A wonderful, kind ex-heroin addict with a new lease of life.”

Actual morning quote from my mother: “70% of people would want public hangings brought back, purely for entertainment value. i know more than one person who would make it a sunday outing. anyway, can you check your top drawer, please, because i seem to have misplaced my quiche?”

Mum’s thoughts on my new shoes: “they remind me of a table”

return home from london. mother has hung an entire lavender plant over the door outside to ‘protect her from evil spirits’

another cheery morning lecture from my mother divided the female population into ‘notorious knicker-droppers’ and ‘fat bitches’

‘intelligence doesnt make you clever or wise,’

3pm: “mum, i failed to get onto the eighteenth grad scheme that i applied to and i thought i was perfect for the job. im so upset.” mother: “i know you’re feeling bad, but at least you dont have down’s syndrome, and while we’re on the subject, im pretty sure there was a ghost in the house last night”

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