Ode to my mamma. Who is not fat.

Like I said yesterday, the theme of the month is 'strange' and there's really no better place to start than with my mother.

My mother is a very strange person. She's also totally awesome, and reacts relatively calmly about my frequent rampages over potato famine and ceremonious pot-smoking at funerals.

She didn't argue with me when playing chess, aged seven, I told her that throwing marbles at the king was the 'nuclear warfare' rule.

She doesn't grumble (too much) when I spend all my money on cookies and cherry Sourz.

She lets me do whatever I want because she knows damn well and good that I won't go anywhere anyway.

She doesn't question me when I say 'well, my husband says...'

She has better dress sense than me.

She shares really bad jokes, and makes them funny.

Her password to my laptop is 'cowpat' because she was drunk at the time.

She'll play Monopoly with me even though I always win.

She doesn't fuss over me even when I'm clearly slipping into a sort of blackhole. She knows I hate fuss, and that I hate people who make out that I can't handle myself (which, in fairness, I can't. I just go along for the ride).

I love her because she tells me that I can't just go on for a few months reading and writing and generally being a 'starving artist' because 'you need talent for that'.

I love her when she tells me to 'remember my place' at work when I announce that I punched/slapped/knee-ed my manager... again.

So here's to my mum who is still holding up even though me and my sister are currently going through the whole 'Muuuuuum, she hit me!' 'Muuuuum, I didn't!' routine that she knows and perhaps doesn't love.