
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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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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