Carol’s Column

Supermother rides again

THERE was Batman, Superman, the Bionic man (and person), Wonderwoman and then came Supermother.

Hello.

And whereas the others fly conventionally, so to speak, I fly in my red chariot.

Why only the other day at one of those intimate little northern suburb dinner parties of 36 people or so, somebody asked me where I live.

"In my car," I answered.

My husband, deeply involved with an underdone crepe suzette, overheard.

"You're exaggerating, dearest," he said.

Dearest?

He was of course joking.

Was I?

On Monday morning I removed the back seat of the car and had a double bed installed.

I replaced the radio with a tea machine and ordered shell-pink shantung curtains with detachable linings for the back and front windows, with black roll-up blinds for the sides.

I placed a "Do-Not-Disturb" sign on the steering wheel, packed a suitcase with a toothbrush, spare nightie and clean underwear (you never know when you're going to be run over by a bus — do you?), two handkerchiefs — one for show, one for blow, and set off to do the lift scheme.

The kids were enchanted.

Not so my financial asset who took one look, shook his mane of thinning hair and remarked with admirable restraint: "You're stark, staring mad."

Which was an unkind sort of a thing to say.

On Tuesday, after I'd lifted the kids to high and primary school, taken the cat to the vet for neuterisation, fetched the dry cleaning, meat, groceries, glass for the broken playroom window, new set of false teeth to wear to the opening of the Greenside High sports pavilion, I installed a telephone.

The telephone department was charming.

"Medem, it's a most unusual request and usually there's a two-year delay. But we'll see what we can do."

Within half an hour, they'd installed an olive-green cricket phone.

No matter that they couldn't connect it up. It's the thought that counts.

On Tuesday afternoon, in between the ballet and the judo, the sun came out and caused the metal frame of my made-in-Japan vehicle to sizzle.

Which inspired me to add an air conditioner and a shower. Of course it meant removing the left-hand arm rest. But who cared.

Wednesday was an exciting day.

The entire Greenside swimming team had a braaivleis in the double bed — lifting the armrest to make room for the mieliepap and gravy.

Which made me decide on a gas cooker because coals were messy and electricity was too complicated.

On Thursday, I gave a small but tasteful soirée (at the Lindbergs, of course, for the Concerned Parents Against Precocious Cosmetics Committee).

They all fitted in so well. In the back seat. Except for two bewildered couples who thought they were at a wild life conservation meeting.

On Friday, (Shabbat) things got rather complicated. The Rabbi called for a quiet chat with all four children. I couldn't give them more than 15 minutes — in between the swimming pool drop, the ballet catch-up and the folk-dancing pick-up.

On Friday I was excommunicated — even the Catholics declined to take me over.

On Saturday the Persian carpet people telephoned to say they couldn't possibly fit a silk Kashan between the brake and the clutch — which made me go for a shaggy-bear carpet instead.

And then the crunch came.

On Saturday afternoon at 4.15pm exactly, my keyhole disappeared.

Stolen.

Which wouldn't matter under normal circumstances — was it not for the fact that I'd moved out of my house into my automobile — which made me homeless.

Yipee!

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