Miss Decision

I have recently returned to New Zealand from Australia and am ‘temporarily’ staying at my parents house. OMIGOD. Yesterday I was quietly enjoying my morning coffee and vogels – love NZ vogels! – when my mother, 63 going on 81, popped up in front of me and demanded my pyjamas! Apparently it was ‘pyjama washing day’. Now if you take this as a normal request you would argue that its Sunday, day of rest and leave all chores until Monday. Thats if it were normal. And it didnt stop there. My father had to get dressed and eventually so did I as the nagging continued and the pyjamas were unceremoniously – or ceremoniously as it had become something of a production by then – dumped in  the washing machine and washed.

Naturally I tried to take this all with good humour thinking ah how quaint and funny my mother is and then I started thinking. The night I had arrived I’d gone to bed and my duvet had been folded down and a pair of um, leopard print flannette pyjamas had been laid out for me. As I was exhausted I thought how nice to be home, back in the nest that I over-looked the fact that I was being dressed by my mother again and looked like a highly flammable mis-shapen leopard!

The next morning, as I gathered my bearings and tried to adjust to the cold, I got up and blurrily made my way to the kitchen. There I encountered my mother. In a leopard print robe. Now being the later side of 25, the last fashion statement I want to make is that of matching mother/daughter outfits. My mother on the other hand loved it – I guess I should be thankful this interest doesnt cross over to dayware, 63 years old in animal print is not a good look.