I wonder what Summer will think when if one day she finds the picture from the party I went to the other night.
There was a photo booth, a free bar and a gay man. The result was 4 passport size photos of me and a semi naked gay guy in compromising positions. The pictures are like a series of stills from one of the most confusing, potentially vomit in mouth porn films ‘big girls on gay guys’. The first sees me pulling his trousers down with my teeth, the second I am peeking into his boxers, the third, he is naked bent over as I grab his hair from behind, the last picture has us in fits of giggles.
Mums aren’t meant to do that type of thing right?
my mum was an angel, she was this sexless, homely women. The worst it got growing up was when she called me at the age of 18 to tell me she had drunk a Bacardi Breezer and couldn’t feel her nose.
My mum cooked and cleaned, never swore, had a strong moral compass, lived her life for her children forsaking relationships, nights out on the piss and hangovers. She was pretty much everything that I am not.
That was what I thought my mum’s life was, up until a month after she passed away my brother and I had to clean out her house. Doing a job like that is one of the most depressing things you can do, deciding what things to keep and what to chuck into a skip or give to charity. I was downstairs whilst my brother went though mums room with a bin bag in hand. The house was unusually silent, and very few words had been spoken that day. Whilst eyeing up some china tea sets wondering what they were worth on ebay. I heard a scream, a thump and banging from my mums room. Shit, she is alive and hiding the cupboard all along, this was all probably one of mums lessons. ‘see I told you you couldn’t live without me, you two have gone about this all wrong , where is your list?, don’t let your sister near the expensive items, she will sell it for crack’’ my mum was convinced I was a crack addict from when she came to visit my flat one day and found a candle stuck to a plate. This was apparently the sign of a junkie along with a ‘suspicious’ roll of tin foil in the kitchen.
Anyway – upstairs the banging continued and I shouted up to my brother who was now screaming and laughing at the same time. I climbed the stairs to see my brother collapsed on the floor in hysterics whilst a rampant rabbit bounced along the floor out of control. He had been clearing out her bedside table (or looking for cash) and had come across mum’s ‘personal items’. Seeing the opportunity to have a little fun, I grabbed the rabbit and took to beating him round the head with it as he gagged and screamed up and down the landing. Then like children finding their dads first porn magazine and wondering what the crusty stuff is on the pages – we went back to the draw and drew gasps at its contents. The draw was an Aladdin cave of toys and lingerie that put an Ann Summers store to shame.
As the house search continued, so did the story of my mum’s secret life, a quite active life it seemed, of romance, lovers, proposals, gifts, cards and letters from men I never knew existed. I wanted to give this woman a high five. My mum was a player.
Would I have wanted to know all this when she was alive? Probably not. Sometimes mums need to keep their ‘other’ lives a secret so I won’t be ripping up the pictures from my night with a gay guy in a photo booth, but I will be putting them in a box, a box of horrors for Summer to discover one day when I am long gone, and I hope it scares the shit out of her!!!!