Today for the first time since having Little Nicky I walked the Big Brother to school only to find that I’ve now graduated to being referred to as ‘Geoff’s Mum’. Is it too much to expect that I deserve a name of my own? I remember that it all started when I became ‘Pilcher’s Sister’ as a teenager – my brother was the ultimate oxymoron; the intellectual jock with a following of older muscle bound hunks that ran around muddy fields and courts dressed in skimpy shorts in the pursuit of balls in various sizes. Being the hormonal teenager that I was at that point I was just glad that they even realized that I was alive and to hell with whatever they chose to call me. Years later when I went to a reunion I became reacquainted with one of the guys that I had always just considered one of my brother’s best friends (and therefore not only off limits but out of my league) only to discover that he’d been a keen wee camper back in the day and still carried a torch (which as you will hear had steadily grown over the years). After a few too many drinks he became exceedingly friendly much to my amusement and in a moment of passion (?) whispered in my ear asking if ‘Pilcher’s Sister would like to go back to his motel room and do the nasty?’ Ahhhh, thanks, but no. Obviously regardless of the years that had gone by he still saw me as someone less than I was… Now as an adult I’m referred to as ‘so and so’s Mum’ regardless of how many times I say 'call me Cinders'.
Any way, the washing is calling and the sun is out so more this afternoon!
Ummmm, coffee first of course...
