ARE you going home for a lovely Christmas with your mum? Here are some comments that await you, and what they really mean.
What a treat to see you.
You don’t come home often enough and you should feel horribly guilty about it.
I saw some lovely trousers in town last week
I hate the trousers you’re wearing.
You know, Sandra’s daughter has moved back to the area.
I want you to move back here too. You are a shit, shit excuse for a daughter.
I know it’s none of my business, but…
It is my business and you’d better damn well tell me what I’m about to ask.
David, you brought Natalie with you!
I didn’t want to see f**king Natalie. I’ve never liked Natalie. Well, that’s not true, I don’t mind Natalie, she’s better than the previous sluts and commoners, but I want to have you all to myself. You’re mine, my son, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE MINE!
I just want you to be happy.
I want you to be happy, but also I want you to live your life precisely as I envisaged. Preferably by becoming a high-flying lawyer I can show off about and be straight and find a lovely spouse and have a wedding I would have free rein in planning, etc. etc.
Don’t take this the wrong way…
Don’t take this the wrong way… Note: That’s right, your mother is actually being sincere: she genuinely doesn’t want you to take whatever she’s about to say the wrong way. Of course you will, or she wouldn’t add this get-out clause. What she’s about to say is something like this:
Do you not want children, then?
Why haven’t you given me any grandchildren yet? It’s not as if when you do have children I’ll make passive-aggressive comments about having to look after them too much, yet somehow also not seeing them enough. I definitely won’t spend hours bitching about your lousy parenting to my pensioner buddies, either. But, just to recap: you are failing me.
You’re still vegetarian, are you?
You’re an attention-seeking middle-child pain in the arse, are you? By the way, I’ve cooked lamb. You can practically hear it bleating.