Sugar, sugar...

Yesterday was the mother's day - she with the Fairy Dust Syndrome if you remember.

We decided to have a quick lunch in the garden centre before we sallied forth to the nearest supermarket to do her weekly shop.  Now lunch for you or me would be a sandwich or some soup, perhaps a jacket potato and all of these would have been a winner for the mother before she got picked for FDS.  Her sweet tooth seems to have destroyed all other teeth capable of enjoying ham or cheese, but as well as that, the sweet tooth has multiplied, giving my mum twenty eight teeth who scream for sugar like a classroom of six year old kids.

'What do you fancy then? I asked her, looking at the lovely soup, toasties, jacket potatoes.  When there was no reply, I looked round and she had stalled around the table which was straining under the weight of cakes.  

'I want one of them', she said said, haphazardly waving her hand so it covered every one of the fourteen cakes on offer.  It's tricky, because while I love her having exactly what she wants, part of me also wants her to have something a bit more substantial to keep her going through the rest of the afternoon and a Mince Pie doesn't really cut it.  So I have reverted to this dreadful subterfuge.

'I'd love a sausage roll/sandwich/jacket potato, but I can't eat it all myself.  Would you share one with me?'  It works every time, and I'm happy because she's had something savoury, she's happy because she's helped me out, and we're both happy as we can now have a Mince Pie as we only had half a sausage roll/sandwich, jacket potato each and are feeling slightly pleased with ourselves.

Deep breath...

We had a good long list yesterday, but completely disregarded that and went to the clothing section first.  'You need some new knickers, mum', I said, 'let's see what they've got'.  After a long chat in front of the rails, we established the following:

Full brief - 'Only old ladies wear those - look how big they are, they'd come up to my chin'.

Thong - 'How do they work then? I'd never get all my bottom in that little triangle'.

Boy Short - 'I'm not a boy....mind you, I am short'.

In the end, we settled for the High Leg which seemed to cover most bases (her buttocks were the main concern) and armed with two packs of size 8 knickers, we headed off to do the rest of the shopping.  It was only when we got to the till that I realised that one of the packs was a size 18.  We discussed the possibilities of tying a knot in the waistband, safety pins and even a pair of braces, but did the sensible thing and went back to the knicker shelf and changed them for the right size.

Standing at the self checkout with the mother while she scanned all the shopping (her favourite bit) we both agreed that being a size 8 and taking a size 18 home wouldn't have been the end of the world.

However, being a size 18 and taking a size 8 home could have had consequences.

Two fireman, a crowbar and a tub of Vaseline night have swung it.

Now there's a thought...