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It’s nearly Mother’s Day again, and you know what that
means, don’t you?
If you answered, “It’s a day when mums around the world get
rewarded for their many efforts with undying love and showered with impressive
gifts,” you’d only be half right.
You see, you would lose points for the ‘impressive gifts’
part.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the presents my children
lavish upon me. As far as gifts go, my children (or rather, my husband, who buys
them and then tells the children what they’re giving me) do okay. They’ve
learned over the years what encompasses a good gift for their particular mum.
It’s the potential gifts that scare me—gifts that other,
less forward mothers get. For this is the time of year that stores like to
market a certain selection of their wares. Namely the ones that scream, “Our
advertising manager still thinks it’s the 1950s!”
This must surely be the case, judging by all these hideous
Mother’s Day catalogues I’ve been getting in the mail for the past two
weeks. I have just one on hand as an example. Ideal gifts for Mother’s Day
include: slippers, perfume, chocolate, knitted jumpers, floral nightgowns,
hairdryers … and here’s where it gets even better … dust busters, bins (!)
and, of course, every kitchen appliance you could possibly imagine. There is
even a rocking chair!
You can see what I’m getting at. Every gift on these pages
says, “Mum, please slave after me some more. I know you have been since before
I was born but, frankly, I think you could do a little better, and here’s an
appliance to give you a little push along. Oh, and if you can possibly help it,
try to look as unstylish as possible. Here’s a lovely flannelette knee length
nightgown to help you in that department. I nearly forgot, here’s some
chocolate to make you fat.”
Now I wouldn’t call myself a feminist exactly, but come on!
Why reward me for my household upkeep with something else to do? I’m sure a
fat reducing grilling machine would provide a handy way to make healthy meals
(it’s not a bad price, actually). But, in reality, it’s just one more thing
to clean. Try and keep away from the appliances, people. If your mum needs one,
buy it another day. My husband was well aware that I needed a new electric fry
pan. He was also well aware that if he chose Mother’s Day to give it to me, he
would get it wrapped around his head. I don’t want a gift on Mother’s Day
that says, “Despite the fact that most women work for a living these days, are
able to do repairs on buildings and vehicles by themselves and no longer get
excited by the concept of having their whites made whiter by a new laundry
powder, I’d like to give you this to remind you that you are, in essence,
still a household slave.”
I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.
How about a DVD? Let’s see what they have advertised … Gone
with the Wind, Stepmom, City of Angels, Dirty Dancing … hmm, this isn’t
getting much better, is it? Apparently, anyone with the slightest hint of
estrogen in their bodies won’t be interested in any movies that aren’t
romantic or teary, as far as this catalogue is concerned. While I concede that
Gone with the Wind is a classic, the rest of those selections would look out of
place next to my Arnold Schwarzenegger collection. Even Clark Gable is pushing
it.
Let’s not even get onto the CDs. It’s just too depressing.
It could be that it’s just me who would like a good true
crime book, Jackie Chan movie or power router for Mother’s Day. Maybe not. Go
ask your mother. You won’t know until you do. She may very well say, “Well
yes, the canister set is very nice, but I really would have liked some new seat
covers for the car now that you mention it.” If you’re a serial
appliance-giver, she may finally snap and scream at the top of her lungs, “Buy
me one more kettle, kid, and you’ll wear it! Now go back to the shop and get
me the special edition Universal Soldier DVD!” (Well, let’s hope she
hasn’t gone that mad, but you never know!)
It would just be nice to see Mother’s Day move into the 21st
century, like 98% of mothers have. That’s all I can say.
And forget what I said about the chocolates.
© Cynthia M. Piromalli
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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