It's a mum thing

Excuse me while I throw up. I get email updates from Marks & Spencers, makers of the world's best underpants. Purely so that I know if they have said underpants on super-cheap special so I can actually afford to order some (being as the Australian dollar buys approx 0.000000000001 of a British pound, and then you add the delivery charges...) or aks my PU#1 to get me some when she's in there getting me M&S mini jaffa cakes, on her yearly pilgrimage to the land of Celts, Angles, Saxons, Normans, etc.

Today they sent me a mothers' day gift guide, it being that time of year in the UK. Apparently mums like flowers, tops, handbags, and various sorts of suitably feminine food. Maybe, thinks I, there are some slightly less stereotypey gifts if I click on the more gifts link. Not so much. Mums also like cross-stitch, pink cards, gardening, perfume, breakfast (but not big manly fried breakfast, seemingly, mums only like boiled eggs with strawberry jam and a cup of tea), nightdresses, lavender bags and mirrors with diamentes on so they can check if they are conforming to patriarchal beauty standards their mascara has smudged because they shed womanly tears when they got emotional (as women are wont to do).

The nature-inspired gifts include a ruffle cardigan, and a "buckle-belt" (I think that's just a belt, for those of us who still speak what was once affectionately referred to as "English") that's clearly made of some sort of plastic. Forgive my being obtuse, but I fail to see the connection with nature. Classic gifts include hot pink leather gloves (someone remind me what "classic" means?) and traditional gifts include floral blouses.

Clearly mums never do anything FUN. Heaven forbid they should get dirty, smell like sweat, wear pants, have a hobby, play video games, wear any colour other than pink (unless perhaps, at a pinch, something floral), or even read a book (unless it relates to cooking or gardening (in an elegant, picking roses while wearing gloves a la Lizzy Bennett), natch). Also, they can have breakfast in bed one day a year, the other 364 days must be spent washing clothes, cooking (non-fattening) meals, and generally being self-sacrificing. Needless to say, I blame the patriarchy.