Pritty Horrendous..Mothers Day reflections

Lock up the superglue, hide your favourite eyeliner, Mother's Day; a time for darling Zara to smuggle your favourite photo taken in Dalkey for your 40th Birthday into montessori, glue some pink feathers round it and watch your reaction as she helps Daddy serve it on a tray with tickets to Damien Rice, lukewarm Lavazza and cold croissant. What do ya mean you wanted to see Ed Sheeran? Children. Personally I love them but only a mini serving with a side order of sweet potato fries. It seems it's no longer possible to visit a cafe to enjoy a latte or two while losing yourself in Vanity Fair without a super-duper, three wheeled, extra aerodynamic, purchased in La Bella Bébé boutique in Glasthule for the introductory price of €1,899, bumping into your table and spilling half of the contents over your favourite cashmere sweater. Can someone please enlighten me? What exactly is the idea of Mother's Day? What creative, progressive purpose does it serve? Millions of women receive cards with greetings so two-faced they could make The Donald blush. These cellophane-wrapped delights are usually accompanied by a bunch of ill-chosen flowers that will be wilted by Thursday and a trip to the local carvery for a plate of roast lamb with seasonal vegetables and a gravy that would shake your Granny in her grave. There is, of course, an obtuse pleasure that all women enjoy as they eat such a meal. The knowledge that it tastes nothing close to as good as you can produce in your own kitchen, coupled with the fact that it cost as much as your last hairdo, is in itself a feast. And so Mother exits the restaurant beaming with this peace of mind, the innocent male who has just had wallet irrigation delighted at his successful efforts in pampering the Woman of the Day, brownie points clocking up nicely and all is well with the world. Those with more creative offspring are blessed to be endowed with the gift of a beauty treatment; a signature, five step facial to minimise those fine lines that your birth initiated in the first place. Or was that the conception? It’s unclear to me which was the more traumatic. Serves me right for agreeing to that last Sea Breeze. Then again, I always was a walkover for anything nautical.