It would be fair to say that I am what one might call Old School. Not in my outlook but rather in the manner I was brought up. In my day girls were raised to know their place. Boys were boys and girls weren’t.
Although, to be fair, at my old boarding school, our PT teacher Miss Heppelthwaite looked more like a man than a woman; and there was even talk. It was a bit scandalous to tell the truth. But one could hardly blame us girls for wondering. I mean, she only wore trousers, never a skirt; her hair was cropped like an army squaddie and she had more facial hair than my late father, for heaven’s sake!
But the line between men and women was much more defined in those days and people were far more conservative too. It seems ludicrous now, but in my mother’s day women could even be measured for ironing boards. And many were!
Dreadful, I realise, but true nonetheless. That was the way it was in those days. Thank goodness we don’t have to put up with that sort of nonsense any more, ladies. In fact, if any man today were even to suggest a girl should be measured for an ironing board he would soon find out that a sharp crease is not the only thing we can put in his trousers, right girls?
The point is we must keep up with the times, and even if we can’t beat old Father Time we can stay abreast, mentally if not physically.
And talking of breasts and staying mentally sharp, my grandson, Jeremy has been clueing me up on Interweb abbreviations.
I overheard him using the word MILF the other day while he was discussing Berenice, the daughter of my next door neighbour, Marge.
Now, Berenice is a young, single mum of 21. She has moved back home for a while with her new baby. In my day, being a single mum was quite the scandal and the child was often referred to as being the Milkman’s.
Well, although Berenice’s little one is as white as milk I hardly think the baby belongs to Winston, the Milkman, who is not only happily married with four children of his own but his roots go as far back as Africa. That reminds me, I must ask Winston for some cream this week, and also make an appointment with the hairdresser for a tint, as my own roots, though not black; also look as though they go as far back as Africa, Ha, ha!
When I asked Jeremy, he readily explained to his gran that it stood for, Mothers I’d Love Forever. Now, isn’t that sweet? Although he did point out that this didn’t apply to his gran, because I am not his mum. He also asked that I not mention this to his own mother as it would embarrass him if she found out that he knew what MILF meant. So sweet!
But Jeremy, who turns 15 next month, reckons that Berenice is definitely a MILF, even though she is a bit too young to be his mum.
Jeremy also suggested that I do a MILF contest and have all my lady readers send in photos and have a Mother I’d Love Forever competition. He said we could do it like those ladies who do those cheeky calendars in the altogether for charity. I was tempted, but I think Jeremy has enough distractions looking at the swallows nesting under the eve of Berenice’s bedroom window through his late granddad’s binoculars to have something else to keep him away from his school homework, don’t you agree, ladies?
So there you are. Now you know what it means when someone calls you a MILF .
Thank you, Jeremy. Bless him.
BFN Love Aunty Jane. x