This is Mum.
Mum last had a lie-in back in approximately 1874.
Back then, Mum was footloose and fancy free.
She also had nipples which stayed above ankle level and a front bottom which was yet to look like the aftermath of a violent altercation between a piece of beef steak and a cactus.
Mum met a boy and fell in love. That boy was Dad.
Mum can still remember a time when she really quite liked Dad.
Now, even the sight of Dad drawing breath makes Mum want to march across to him and smash his irritating face in.
Mum knows this would not fall under the grounds of acceptable behaviour as stipulated in their marriage vows, so Mum settles for hissing obscenities between gritted teeth as he leaves the room and writing “TOSSER” on the roof of her mouth with her tongue while smiling sweetly.
Mum and Dad have three children. The children are the light of Mum and Dad’s lives. Mum knows this must be true because everyone keeps telling her this.
Mum’s children have sapped every last bit of her sanity, energy, and stomach elasticity from her.
On Saturday nights the children threaten grievous bodily harm to each other while grappling for the remote control.
Mum hides in the larder with her secret bottle of gin and scrolls through social media to stalk the people she went to school with.
Lydia’s children are performing a Suzuki violin concerto at home tonight, while Felicity’s two boys have trained in silver service catering and will be serving up a five course tasting menu to Felicity and her husband Nathaniel.
“Fuck you, Lydia and Felicity,” mutters Mum to herself, shoving the children’s chocolate buttons into her mouth and washing them down with neat Bombay Sapphire.