Mother’s Day

Sometimes I just stare at them like everyone else and manage a little smirk as they rush past. Is it so terrible of me to pretend they aren’t mine, smile and shake my head at the behaviour some mother has let spiral out of control.

Eventually I’m discovered at the checkout, repeating the rules and removing any further impulse purchases. But, somewhere between the OK button and collecting my forage, trauma is replaced with pride, and we run and skip our way out…free of the judging eyes, the sneers and worst of all, the tsk, tsks. The latter makes me want to programme my duo to heat-seek all those uptight teeth suckers and frazzle them till they forget the most important item on their well-organized list.


About writesome

I've been wanting to do this for a while. Now I can type instead of pen scratch in a journal. It's an experiment, but isn't life. I wish you joy and happiness. May life bless you and may you bless life. View all posts by writesome

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