Mother’s Day?? WTF is THAT??

When I saw the amount of love expressed on that ‘true’ illustrious media form that is Facebook, I hung my head in sorrowful self pity, I’ll be honest. 

There would be no surprise dinners with mother for me, no pictures of us sat around a roast with party hats on & no unexpected bouquet of flowers for me to bestow with a surprise ‘voila’ at her doorstep.

My memories of my mum when I was young are scarce and very far in between. 

  

Intimate talks are a miss and words of ‘I Love You’ are yet to be recalled.

I don’t have memories of happy summer holidays.

 
I have nightmares about blood, knives and ambulance sirens instead.  

My mum didn’t win the parent’s egg and spoon race or bake a big cake for the Harvest Festival; she did one better and tried to kill my step-dad in broad daylight. . . Twice.  

My childhood consisted of being very different.  

I was a child of the Dev, raised on the stale fumes and shadowed light of the Off-Sales hatch and seduced by the occasional pacifying bottle of R Whites Lemonade and a bag of KP Salted Peanuts.
 

My mam spent more time in Bridge Street than she did with me.

 
And all for the sake of a fucking man.... Who I might add, took every opportunity to remind us that I wasn’t his.

Makes no wonder that I’m single eh? 

Happy Fucking Mothers Day.