Posting a photo of your kid with shit all over his face is the heroin of the full time mummy world. It’s like the feeling of a million Minion memes rushing through your online veins. Once Susan got a taste she was hooked.
T’was the summer of ‘15 when Susan felt the baby photo-high fade into a mundane buzz. In a fiendish frenzy she stepped up her oversharing game and wrote a status about her shit-for-brains husband struggling to change a nappy.
The post was met with critical acclaim from masses of Chardonnay-housewives. A star was born, and Susan started up a Wordpress blog, “The Hardest Job in the Mummyverse”. An outlet to describe the difficulty in dodging her kids bodily fluids, and finding time to cop some of her husbands.
Clueless sprog-raisers everywhere flocked to Susan’s blog for mothering advice. In her desperate bid for relevancy, nothing was off limits. Her kid’s piss-panting, the state of her nips and even a horrifically unsexy story about her husband 2-pump-chumpin’ it in the backseat of their Rav 4 after they’d drop the little snot-dicks off at her mums:
“As a mummy, I work a dozen jobs all at once. Unfortunately, my hubby couldn’t even handle the one job I’d allocated him for the night lol. After a minute of grunting it just struggled like a inflatable, crazy, blowy man outside a used car lot”.
The mother goose was loose, and she was laying daily eggs of parenting faux-losophy. The delusion of profoundness led to such dickheaded greats as “Why I’m an Organic Mummy”, “Vaccines are MY Choice” and “Defeating ADHD with Love”.
Doctors, dieticians and child psychologists could all go and suck her husband’s deflated manhood. She knew best because she had 2000 followers and had a shout out on Mamamia.
To save herself from the crippling regret of a 10am glass of vino, Susan takes her laptop and kids down the local park. She types away as her kids play and she notices a couple of male council workers having their smoko on a bench.
She pens five cunt-agraphs of rambling fuckery about how as a mummy she didn’t feel safe letting her children play while bearded men sat 75m away.
Her following couldn’t believe these men had the audacity to enjoy a park bench on a spring day. What fucking arseholes. Didn’t they consider Susan’s prejudices?
In a whirlwind of misandristic rage, the post goes viral. Acrylic nails batter keyboards and the plight of the park mummy becomes known. Susan is as chuffed as Waleed Aly’s left hand at a circle jerk.
Susan is now a household name and she begins eyeing off her next target: the lack of vegetarian options at her local butcher.