What makes you cringe?

Every second Wednesday of every month, I do a day behind the bench of our local high school, as I dispense hot pies and lessons in social niceties to hungry, hormonal juveniles. I do this mainly because I have unfettered access to baked goods plus the boys love bringing their friends to the door, so I can shout them all an icy pole.

My mum used to do canteen when I was a kid, and for that day I was the most popular person in the class. Depending on how much you worshipped my was directly in line as to whether you might get a free Zooper Dooper at lunchtime.

The next day, I was dropped like a hot potato. But I digress.

Every second Wednesday of every month is the only day that Horatio will come into my room while I am getting dressed. If I were to be in a state of undress, he would cry “JESUS MUM!” and avert his eyes, before I delivered the old “this is what a normal woman’s body looks like dude!” lecture that he has heard many times.

Yesterday, I was pulling on a pair of jeans, a sensible leopard print loafer and a simple grey t-shirt from K-Mart. The t-shirt had the slogan on it that said Don’t Be A Cliche. I bought it as it appealed to me as I often tell people, when asked what I did for a living, that I am a Trophy Wife.

“Don’t wear that!” He insisted “That is so cringe.”

Horatio uses that word a lot when it comes to me.

So I pulled out another option, a light cotton shirt with a jaunty tropical print.


Another option, a black t-shirt with NASTY WOMAN embroided on it.

“Can’t you just be normal?” he pleaded with me. So I threw on a plain black top.

The kids left the house to catch the bus, making sure that they gave each other a swift belting in front of me, just to make sure that my stress levels were optimised.

I looked at the collection of rejected garments on my bed and had an immediate thought.

NO ONE PUTS BABY IN THE CORNER! I ripped off the boring top and put my cliche top back on, and guess what?

Hours later when he turned up with his gang of mates, he didn’t even notice!

I cannot recall ever being embarrassed by my Mum’s outfits when I was a teenager, and I could have very well have been, as Mum embraced the 80’s fashion with gusto, bankcard in hand. She had never met a hot orange lipstick she didn’t like and loved a feature earring, preferably made of FIMO and preferably a set of large, tropical birds.

And ironically, it was his attitude to me not being a cliche, was in fact an act of cliche-ment (totally a word) in itself.

What makes you cringe?