Mums
Mrs Liveinabin tells us: My mum told me to eat my vegetables, or I wouldn't get any pudding. I'm 32 and told her I could do what I like. I ate my vegetables. Tell us about mums.
( , Thu 11 Feb 2010, 13:21)
Mrs Liveinabin tells us: My mum told me to eat my vegetables, or I wouldn't get any pudding. I'm 32 and told her I could do what I like. I ate my vegetables. Tell us about mums.
( , Thu 11 Feb 2010, 13:21)
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If it's not one thing it's your mother
Shameless pearost coming up...
My mum has never been one for looking after cars. Combining her boot fair addiction and interest in plants the car normally looks like a rag and bone van. Think moss on the dashboard (I kid thee not).
As a driver myself (and not a particularly good passenger) its quite rare for me to ever travel with her. However one unforftunate day I was forced to accept a lift in the Red-Death-Mobile as my car had broken down. Thats when the fun started:
1.) Every time she braked the oil-light would come on.
2.) The steering wheel visibly shook side to side from a "coming-together" with a kurb.
3.) Speed bumps were taken at 40mph+ (think dukes of hazard stylee).
4.) She was not happy about going out of her way to collect me.
Being a male (read petrolhead) I decided it was only reasonable for me to let her know the dangerous faults with her car (and some of her creative driving habits). Oh boy... NOT a good idea.
Full-on hystrionics about how her driving was always good enough when I was a kid and wanted to go to a friends. The more irate she got the more faults I mentioned. After 2 minutes of throwing the car (even more) around she screeches to a halt in a side road screaming "GET OUT...IF ALL YOU ARE GOING TO DO IS INSULT MY CAR YOU CAN WALK!". We werent that far from home anyway so I decided it was probably safer.
The following memory will live with me forever:
I climb out and close the car door looking at a betroot-faced mum still fuming with rage. Tapping on the window she lowers it expecting an apology. With a smile on my face I then handed her back the door handle from the car.
Both of us cried with laughter and had to sit in the car for 10minutes to calm down before I drove the red-shed back home.
( , Thu 11 Feb 2010, 14:15, 4 replies)
Shameless pearost coming up...
My mum has never been one for looking after cars. Combining her boot fair addiction and interest in plants the car normally looks like a rag and bone van. Think moss on the dashboard (I kid thee not).
As a driver myself (and not a particularly good passenger) its quite rare for me to ever travel with her. However one unforftunate day I was forced to accept a lift in the Red-Death-Mobile as my car had broken down. Thats when the fun started:
1.) Every time she braked the oil-light would come on.
2.) The steering wheel visibly shook side to side from a "coming-together" with a kurb.
3.) Speed bumps were taken at 40mph+ (think dukes of hazard stylee).
4.) She was not happy about going out of her way to collect me.
Being a male (read petrolhead) I decided it was only reasonable for me to let her know the dangerous faults with her car (and some of her creative driving habits). Oh boy... NOT a good idea.
Full-on hystrionics about how her driving was always good enough when I was a kid and wanted to go to a friends. The more irate she got the more faults I mentioned. After 2 minutes of throwing the car (even more) around she screeches to a halt in a side road screaming "GET OUT...IF ALL YOU ARE GOING TO DO IS INSULT MY CAR YOU CAN WALK!". We werent that far from home anyway so I decided it was probably safer.
The following memory will live with me forever:
I climb out and close the car door looking at a betroot-faced mum still fuming with rage. Tapping on the window she lowers it expecting an apology. With a smile on my face I then handed her back the door handle from the car.
Both of us cried with laughter and had to sit in the car for 10minutes to calm down before I drove the red-shed back home.
( , Thu 11 Feb 2010, 14:15, 4 replies)
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