“When I go to visit my mother (as I will be doing shortly) I
feel like tearing my hair out. ‘Oh,’ I hear you say, ‘one of THOSE
stories.’ But no, it’s not. She lets me enjoy my usual sleeping
habits, lets me put my shoes on the couch, and eat whatever I want.
But there is one huge difference between my house and her house,
and for the two weeks a year that I stay with her there is just one
point of tension. I’ll set the scene:“‘Mum,’ I’ll say from the couch of her small apartment, ‘Would
it be okay if I use the computer?’ ‘Of course!’ My mother will
exclaim (hey, she only sees me twice a year, so she’s pretty
enthusiastic). ‘I’ll just get it out…'”