That’s it. I’m want a new mum. One who doesn’t hit me during the football, one who can see her team is a group of thugs, one who has the good grace not to support a winning team, one who doesn’t drag my daughter in to barracking for The Dark Side and one who doesn’t tap me on the shoulder as she sings her victory song, twice, and with great gusto. I guess she shouldn’t mind me being a bad sport too.
Of course the new mum will have to bake and bring cakes to the footy like my old mum.