Mother's Day Blues

Mother's Day surely only comes once a year, and a good thing too I say!

It seems, you see, that this is a day that should really be called 'Fathers in Trouble Day' because let's face it, that's what it's all about isn't it?

Or perhaps it’s just me. You see I'm not really a good present choosing person. In fact, the good-gift-buying gene seems to have somehow eluded my chromosomes totally - I suck at it, and horribly so. And as hard as I try I can't seem to turn it around, especially with Mrs Ed.

I've tried 'sensible', but despite my generosity, Mrs Ed seldom shows any real appreciation for the garden tools, dish-washing sets (matching), or even the almost-new ironing board cover I bought for our last anniversary.

Romantic doesn't work either. Even stuff that deems well for other people, in movies or books, just seems to go wrong when I try. For example I remember one night Mrs Ed and I saw a program on the TV in which a man had laid a trail of rose petals for his wife. It led from the front door, up the stairs to the bedroom and onto the bed. There he arranged more petals into a heart shape, in the centre of which he placed a gift (the swine!).

Of course, as his wife discovered the petals and started following the trail of romance, her smile got broader and sweeter, and tears of delight glistened on her chiseled cheeks. Eventually she got to her present (a rather dysfunctional silky red negligee) and, as she unwrapped it, her husband stepped out from behind the door with another bunch of red roses.

Her reaction was to spring into his arms, clutching him tightly and smothering him with kisses of gratitude. And so the scene faded….

At the time, being the caring husband that I am, I made a mental note of how this man's romantic gesture had moved Mrs Ed, causing her to cry real tears of joy along with the girl on the screen and mumble something about how infinitely lucky this woman was, and something else about having more chance of flying to Mars.

So the next time she (Mrs Ed) had a 'special day' - I think it was her 99th birthday or something - I decided to re-enact the same scene for her in our own home....

I have to tell you, I didn't get the same results.

In hindsight, perhaps I should have made effort to get rose petals. Though a much cheaper option, the liberal sprinkling of garden leaves (and an accidental bit of topsoil) didn't have quite the same impact, and the fact that I had accidentally trodden in something soft and gooey whilst collecting them, which kind of left a residue on the tiles and carpets, didn't help. (I had planned to clean it up but, oh my, it stank so much I felt nauseous).

I had also thought it had been quite a clever idea to lead the 'love trail' from the front door to the kitchen sink instead of the bedroom, because, well, that's where Mrs Ed normally goes as soon as she comes in from work. But apparently it wasn't. A good idea I mean. Nor, I gather, was the brilliant (patent pending) idea of cutting the legs off my old brown tracksuit bottoms and trying to pass the remainder as sexy ladies' undies - though I suspect my daughter may have tipped Mrs Ed off about those, because I still believe they were quite impressive.

In fact, if the truth be told, when I stepped out from behind the kitchen door holding a handful of freshly picked daisies and bracing myself for the impact of her leaping into my arms (it is better to have one's back firmly against the wall for that sort of thing), the closest thing I got to being smothered with wet kisses was a rather sodden and cold dish cloth which smacked me across the face with impressive force as she harrumphed past me.

So you see, I'm simply not very good at romantic stuff, though I can't understand why. Perhaps I'm just bad at reading the right message, but it's something that has plagued me my whole married life.

I remember another incident years ago when I got into deep trouble one Valentine's day…..

It was Saturday afternoon and Mrs Ed had organized that the kids went to her mom's for a while so that we were totally alone in the house - a rare thing when you have children of three and five.
“We've got three hours to ourselves!” she exclaimed huskily, giving me a sly wink, “Why don't we do something we haven't been able to do for a long, long time?”
“What….?” I answered breathlessly, “You mean, here… and now… Right here…. On the couch?”
“Why not?' she grinned.
“Quick,” I shouted almost unable to control my anticipation, “Close the curtains, grab a blanket and switch the lights off!”

It was certainly the nicest afternoon nap I had had for a long time, but yet somehow, when I woke up, Mrs Ed did not seem to be sharing my joy. Perhaps she was miffed that I'd taken up the whole couch and left her to kip on the rather lumpy armchair, because she kept muttering about me being as romantic as a mouldy bit of broccoli.

And so you will understand that I was dreading this year's Mother's day…. Until a fortnight ago. That's when a mate advised me what I should buy - he said it's fool proof.
“You can't go wrong, mate,” he said, sinking his pint of amber nectar at an impressive speed, “Just go to one of those speciality shops in the mall and buy her something black and lacy.”

And that's what I did.

And to be honest, I thought it was a VERY nice pair of safety boots… but did they have the desired effect? I don't think so. In fact Mrs Ed has told our daughter that she plans to insert one not-so-gently into my mouth if I don't hurry up and find the receipt so she can return them. And considering they have got steel toe-caps....
I'd be mad if I didn't!