I was granted parole for half a day last Saturday. I managed to slip into the city to see the Ab Fab movie with three girlfriends at Gold Class as you do daahling. The occasion was met with the consumption of four glasses of wine plus a three tiered platter of fancy arsed cakes. Needless to say it was freakin’ awesome.
The movie wasn’t bad either. It was touchingly resonate in places. For instance I was moved by a scene where Saffy performs Janis Ians’ At Seventeen’ before a gaggle of drag queens. Then there was a climatic bit where Eddie says to Saffy ‘I did not want to be fat and old but here we are daaahling.’ That burned because I’m 46 and in the worst shape of my life. Here we are daaahling indeed.
What the movie really brought home is that there is simply not enough unbridled hedonism in my middle class life. Unlike Edie and Pats, I can’t indulge in a coke and champagne soaked idyll on the Cote d’ Azur . It’s not an option.
By contrast here is how a debauched Saturday evening plays out at Chez Abulous. I swill two glasses of red whilst Dadabs goes all Manu on my ass and whips up something shamefully gourmet. I may or may not do a happy dance to express my gratitude towards Dadabs cooking.
We put the kids to bed then I assume the position – on the couch under a doona in front of the telly. He assumes his position upstairs in front of the computer. There I get to imbibe historical hunks becoming estranged from their historical blouses in blissful uninterrupted peace. Though sometimes I waste the opportunity and just watch Parks and Rec.
So how did it come to this? My mission to become a world class cougar is failing.
At this rate I will never morph into this type of awesomeness.
What happened? Kids happened. I’m a Mum and I am Mumsy.
Here is how the realization struck me.
I was faffing about wasting time on Facebook when I scrolled past a discussion about the Canadian PM and uber crumpet Justin Trudeau.
Being me I could not leave well alone and added to the fawning comments – ‘PM of Canada, Mayor of Hunkytown and CEO of Crumpets Inc’.
I scored a few thumbs ups for my efforts and one reply ‘Ha ha. You’re a Mom right? ‘Cause that this a real Mom joke. I love it.’
Here’s me thinking it was an example of bawdy wit! Sheesh.
Then my nine year old called me out about the baggy jeans I was wearing. ‘Why are you wearing those weird jeans.’
‘Because they are comfortable.’
‘They are Mum jeans’
Now I thought my loose denim gave the ensemble something of a waif feel ala Dexy’s Midnight Runners. My nine year old whose taste runs to Ariana Grande disagreed.
‘Am I embarrassing you?’
And so it begins. I make Mum jokes and wear Mum jeans. I suppose I have Mum hair too.
That is nothing compared to the shade I regularly get from my six year old who insults my physical appearance on a daily basis. Recently she told me that my ‘belly button better watch out because my boobies were coming for it’. Which pretty creative for a Grade One student. My (Size 10) derriere is frequently compared to that of Kim Kardashian. At this rate I may as well pack up and move in with Kanye who would no doubt appreciate me.
Another feature of my Mumsiness is my inability to distinguish popular female singers on the radio. They all sound like Rhianna to me.
Also I’ve failed to grasp the appeal of the You Tubers and plushies.
Help me get back on the road to Cougar Town! How can I rid myself of the Mumsiness and embrace my inner fab?
Are you Mumsy? Are you OK with it?