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Mum "What's in the bag?" (P.S. I'm 35)

Me "A secondhand 80s jumpsuit. I'm not convinced though."

Mum "Put it on, let's have a look!" 
(I love my Mum - so encouraging!)

2 minutes later...

Mum "Oh wow! Look at youuuu - VERY elegant!" 
(tries hard to look genuinely impressed)

Me "Pfff! I feel the size of a rhino in this!" 
   (I've just come back from a whole afternoon of not fitting into a single pair of jeans. My self-esteem is that of a spotty 15-year-old wearing braces and fancying her P.E. teacher).

Mum "Don't be siiiiilly! You look fantastic! Why don't I EVER find anything like this?!"

Me Not sure how to respond really, but as always, she's quicker...

Mum "I was wearing an identical jumpsuit when your brother started walking!"

Me "Awwww!" (J'adore les anecdotes)

Mum "Can I try it on?"

Me (puzzled - this is a first-timer) "Err... ok."


easy fit if you're Brooke...


2 minutes later posing in front of the mirror like a Dynasty character...

Mum "Nah" (is she fishing for compliments?)

Me (having a holy grail moment) "What do you mean "nah"? You look incredible!" (She really does, it's infuriating) "This jumpsuit is MADE for you!" (Wow! I'm so mature, is this really me? I actually feel happy about Mum looking better in my new clothes than I do!)

Mum "Hmmmm... not my colour." 

Me "Pardon? It's the P-E-R-F-E-C-T colour for you - how can't you see that?!" (Does she perhaps suffer from some wired, undetected colourblindness? Or is she simply missing out on a huge chance to swap her beloved, crazy reds for a colour that ACTUALLY suits her?)

Mum "What are you talking about?! It makes me look at least ten years older! Like a priest during lent!" (Please do take a seat, the drama shall begin any minute from now! And yes, we're catholic)

Me "You got to be kidding me!? You should have iiiiit! It'll be my Christmas present to you!" (I'm sickened by my own generosity)

Mum "Noooooooooooo!" (stomps her foot - shocking to outsiders, less so to insiders, the true connoisseurs of my mother's emotional repertoire) "I really DON'T like it! You're just trying to convince me so you can cross me off your Christmas shopping list!" 

Me "Whaaat?!" 
(Help! Heeeelp! I've been shot, I'm hurt! I'm bleeeeeding!)



Mum (smug) "Fine, let's ask Dad then." 
(H-O-W  D-A-R-E  Y-O-U!)

Me "Great! Let's have it..." (I'm DEAD.)

Mum "Miiiiiichael! We need your help!"

Me "No, we don't" (pulling faces at each other like two deranged cats).

Dad "What the... Are those Pyjamas?! 
(Oh pleeeeease! He doesn't even know who Karl Lagerfeld is!)

Mum Giving me her triumphant over-the-shoulder look - traitress, how could you?! To your own daughter!!!

Me Grinning back sarcastically in the comfort of having at least the moral upper hand, which of course gets me nowhere. No-where.

2 minutes later, sat on my parent's bed, her
in the aforementioned perfectly-fitting/coloured/whatever-else-can-possibly-be-perfect 80s jumpsuit, me in an ill-fitting 90s cocktail dress massaging my cold toes...

Me (exhausted) "God, you're stubborn..."

Mum (out in a shot) "Ha! As if you were any better!"



W-H-A-T-E-V-E-R Mum, 
W-H-A-T-E-V-E-R!



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