January 2nd, 2009 | 24 Comments »

My Mom was a real pissah, and I mean that in the best possible way. She died three years ago, and I still miss her.

She was plenty quirky, and could be tough. I knew that she loved me, and that? That was enough for me. I accepted her exactly the way she was. Hah. Like anyone was going to change her or anything. Not.

Whenever someone does something that could be trouble, I often say “I’m telling Mom”. Because it is meant to strike fear in their hearts. Even though she’s dead and all.

I was bantering with Angella last week because she wrote something about donkey balls on her blog. It was a bit of a surprise from her straight and narrow approach, so I immediately gave her the “I’m telling Mom”. She didn’t seem very afeared but she should have been.

My Mom had a boardinghouse at one time. This meant that there were up to ten working men who took meals and lodged at the house. She had to get up very early to make their lunches and breakfast. I know this because I helped her. It was quite the production line, but always fun, because we did it together.

If payday came in the middle of the week, some of the boarders would bring booze up to their rooms, play guitar, and generally get wasted.

Mom would holler up the stairs that they had to keep it down because she had to get up early. She wasn’t kidding.

When does a drunk person ever keep it down? The noise, I mean.

I’ll tell you when. Mom threatened after the first warning that the next time she would come upstairs, haul down the drawers of the offender, and slap his arse.

Yes, grown men.

That’s exactly what happened. She administered a spanking on a grown man’s bare arse in front of his buddies. They all started snickering, but stopped instantly when she turned her fury on them and pointed.

“If you keep it up, you’re next.”

It became very quiet that night. After that, all she had to do was holler once upstairs, and the party, it was over.

Told you she was a pissah.