Time for a shameless pea first.
Hell hath no fury...

My Mum was a most unusual parent. Evidence of this can be seen by all who have met me. She was liberal-minded to a fault, in fact so liberal the only option I had for teenage rebellion was organised religion. Weird how that one works out. But still, by and large she did alright in raising such a sensitive soul as myself. In short, she was an incredibly laid-back parent. But by fuck did she have a temper. Somewhat worse than a pissed-off female rancor when they've got the painters in. I've seen it a few times, and it's an awesome sight. Here's the story of one of those times.

It was the end of school day, and I would have been about 12 years old. And back then I was a bit wet behind the ears. In fact, that doesn't quite cover it. Try "so moist it's boggy". Which of course attracted the pirahna-like attentions of one of the more physically communicative young ne'er do-wells in my year. Although when I say physically communicative, he'd be as likely to nut you in the face as say "Hi".

So, I'm walking to the school gate, and I spot my Mum, ice-cream in hand, and she'd come to pick me up from school, meaning I didn't have to deal with the cerebrally-deficient plebs I was usually forced to spend my time with on my way home. Result. Of course, these things never quite work out like that. The antagonist of our story, unbeknownst to me, was running up behind me, and had leapt in the air, and was descending with fists drawn aiming at the back of my neck. In short, the bastard dropped me with a flying donkey punch. It's not surprising I fell to the ground like a freshly-shot antelope. Not the most pleasant of endings to a school day.

However, Mr Idiot hadn't counted on Mum seeing the whole thing. And she had. And saw red. And the temper manifested itself like the wrath of an angry God. Odin, Zeus and Amun-Ra would have been quaking in their boots. She had set off at a run across the school field, and caught up with Mr Donkey-Puncher, and had chased him round the field, swearing like a trooper, and had eventually picked him up by his jacket, and was shaking him. Quite roughly, in fact.

And then, she came to. And noticed herself surrounded by a bunch of grinning, slightly scared teenagers. And holding up a now very scared former bully. Who had developed a mysterious damp patch on his trousers.

Go Mum!
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 11 Feb 2010, 16:18, Reply)