Bad ass mumma

Something rather worrying occurred in my family six years ago.  My mother – my calm, middle-class, softly spoken mother – took up kicking ass as a hobby.

Growing up, my sisters had 21 facial piercings between them.  While they tattooed their ankles, I spent every Saturday playing violin in the local orchestra.  When they invested in dreadlocks, I invested in a maths degree.  When my bro developed a love for art house film-making, I developed a love for honey & marmite sandwiches.  While they had their fingers on the pulse, my finger was firmly stuck to the remote control for a Deep Space Nine episode marathon.

My parents were my one solace.  I could safely look at them and fool myself into thinking that by comparison I was vaguely cool.

Then my dad grew his hair long and my mum joined a club where people fly through the air for fun.  My sandwich-making skills hardly shine in comparison.  How very dare they.

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About spindlespace

Life for me is a series of thoughts, questions, and amusing disasters. Read about them all here... View all posts by spindlespace

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