There was old British movie, a send-up murder mystery that the English did so well in the 50's and 60's, that I was watching on TV as a young man, still at senior school, with my mother.
In the movie there was a darkly lit night scene in copse of silhouetted trees, where a young man and his bossy mother were trying to dispose of a corpse that had rather inconveniently ended up in the rounded trunk of their old car (it must have been the 50's.) The mother was ordering her son around rather gruffly and officiously as if he was a total twit. Which, true to the spirit of the genre, he was. Not sure if Norman Wisdom didn't play the son. The son was horrified of the whole thing, murder, dead body... All too ghastly. [I vaguely recollect that she thought he did it, and he thought she did it.]
Whenever this possibly murderous mother was being most unreasonable - "Jonathon, grab his legs and pull him over here, now!" - which was quite often, the young man would say plaintively, "Oh, Mumsy!" and go all pusilanimous and fainty...
My mother and I cracked up at the line. I call my mother by her first name usually. She wouldn't hurt a fly, at least not very often. Well, we all have moments of temper, but she never killed anyone and dumped their body in the woods. Not that I am aware of, anyway. As a rule, when I was young, she would let me do what I wanted and as I generally didn't want to do anything all that bad (e.g. kill someone and dump their body in the woods), except maybe go surfing every possible minute I could, things went smoothly. She was never bossy or unreasonable to me, I was never subservient nor terribly disobedient to her; we just got along very well and we never murdered nobody.
So this expression, "Oh, Mumsy," became a little catch-cry between us, the unlikelihood of it applying to us made it vastly and ironically amusing.
My mother has had a 'bad' hip for a while now and it has begun to severely interefere with her main social time-waster, competition lawn bowls, at which has had quite a champion run over the years. She just turned 83. When she first complained about her arthritis and, at the urging of friends ("You won't know yourself, Dorothea"), asked about a hip-replacement, the surgeon showed her a list of complications - the word 'death' he circled with his pen. She decided to postpone the operation.
But in the year or so since then it has become so debilitating that she has decided to risk all for the chance to enjoy her lawn bowls again. A THR - total hip replacement.
Her operation is tomorrow, at about the time the Melbourne Cup horse race is being run.
I hope that the surgeon's horse comes in but not when he a scalpel in his hand, and that my mother's race is won too: that the operation goes well, that the threat of complications is completely averted, that it is a textbook procedure and she out of hospital to rehabilitation quickly, that the pain is not too much for her to handle, and that she gets home soon...
And I plan on having Christmas dinner with a complete recovered and newly agile "Mumsy".
OTHER MONKEYS SAID
All the best for your mum tomorrow big boy. I'm sure she'll make it through and be chasing you round the Christmas table.
Fingers crossed for the Mumsy mate.
Hope it goes well, darling.
positive vibes/good thoughts/fingers crossed for your dear mama, sugar ;-)
Thanks all - Mumsy is a survivor, I am sure she will outlast us all... Will update tomorrow night.
(Meanwhile another 2000 words on the NaNoWriMo...)
I hope your momma is doing well :-)