Mummy Porn: My Version

After an uninterrupted night’s sleep in our tasteful bedroom, I wake at 9am to the sound of birds singing outside my window. Again.

Admiring the enormous vase of disease-free roses from my garden beside me, I sit up.   Yesterday’s clothes are not on the floor… they are out of sight and about to be laundered by the Washing Fairy.  My husband brings me a tray of eggs benedict, a pot of tea and the paper. He sits at the end of the bed and rubs my feet, telling me I should be a foot model. Yes. I should. He then comments that I don’t go to day spas enough and “apparently they’re money well spent.”

My son and daughter come in, holding hands and telling each other they are best friends.  They are dressed in clothes clearly chosen by an adult, their teeth are clean and faces washed.  No fingers are in noses or blatantly scratching arses.  My son does not mention Pokemon, Mario or some other computer game that pisses me off.  Nor has my daughter removed her clothes and drawn all over herself in biro.

“What shall we do today, Mummy?  Can we go to one of your favourite galleries and you can tell us about the paintings?  We will believe whatever you say and pretend you are not just making any old shit up.  And we won’t get lost or pull our pants down unexpectedly.”  Words to that effect, anyway.

I explain I’d love to but I have nothing to wear.

“Hmmm,” nods my husband, “I agree.  You really need more clothes.   And you can never have enough shoes. Same with bags, and the cheap ones are such a false economy, aren’t they?   Why don’t you go shopping, really go crazy, and get everything delivered so you aren’t too weighed down.  We can meet you at the gallery?”

I agree.  I get up and listen to the radio as I’m getting dressed.  It’s the best news: poverty has been completely eradicated, vaccinations are available to the entire world’s population,  and Keeping Up with the Kardashians has been axed.   It’s going to be a good day.

The phone rings and it’s the bank manager.  He tells me our mortgage has been paid off, in fact things are so good would we consider buying a few holiday houses? Apparently Palm Beach is a bit of a goer.  I tell him I’ll think about it.

There’s a text on my phone from the babysitter:

“Just confirming I’ll be there tonight. FYI I’m free every night for the rest of the year, and have cut my rate so every second hour is free.  That OK?”

It is OK.  Tonight will be fun actually.  My husband and I have been working our way through London’s top restaurants.  He loves fine dining and luxurious mini breaks, and always insists I order three courses.  He often marvels at my wine matching skills… they are impressive, I have to admit.

But then I remember – I can’t shop today, I’m choosing tiles for our new bathroom. We’re also getting all the plumbing redone, so the toilet will flush with gusto instead of just going “pffff…. you want to get rid of that?  Well you can’t.  Ba ha haaaa!” I tell my husband who does a sexy shrug while assuring me he’ll take care of everything.  “I just really want you to have your dream bathroom with state-of-the-art plumbing.  And I promise you’ll never have to clean it.”

It’s just a typical day, really.

Ooooooh baby…


17 thoughts on “Mummy Porn: My Version

  1. Michelle Garrett says:

    Oh indeed, a best seller–but would it go in the fantasy section or erotica? Can't wait for the next two in the trilogy…!

  2. mid30slife says:

    The next 2 are simply called “shopping” and “my new bathroom.” And if they don't do it for you, nothing will. x

  3. mid30slife says:

    I think you forgot the word “mummy?” Isn't it illegal to describe this sort of thing as “porno?” Someone made a rule that it's to be called “mummy porn” or nothing at all.

  4. mid30slife says:

    I haven't read it but am curious. I'm finding it funny people are getting their knickers in a knot b/c she's a bad example to women (apparently) – I can't see how that makes it a bad book? (Have screaming, squirming 3yo on lap argh!)

  5. Talk About York says:

    If you had mentioned how I fit into my jeans, it would have been perfect. But it was pretty darn close

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