It is with very great regret that we must report Madonna has been at it again.
Her latest exploits have seen her post a video on the social media platform TikTok showing her attempting to throw a pair of pink pants into her bathroom bin, exclaiming: “If I miss, I’m gay.”
The 64-year-old has only ever publicly dated men, although she’s snogged a few women in her time – most famously, Britney Spears at the 2003 MTV Music Awards. But, as a frenzied internet asked if the superstar singer was really coming out, there was a far more pressing question: Who cares?
She obviously can’t bear to be out of the public eye for even a nanosecond and is clearly ravenous for attention, thirsty for the spotlight. And this kind of thing clearly interests her millions of loyal fans as the post got more than a million hits within an hour. But what on earth do her six children make of all this? I mean, parents are embarrassing enough at the best of times, but what if your mum is one of the most famous women on the planet and she carries on like this?
Maybe it’s just me, but I’d be mortified. I wonder if Lourdes or Rocco says: “For goodness sake, mum, put away your coned basque, get yourself to Marks & Spencer for some comfortable wide-fit shoes and please, please, start acting your age.”
Hollywood star Naomi Watts revealed in an interview last week that when she was young she longed for normal parents. Her mum, Myfanwy, a glamorous model-turned costume designer, was married to Pete Watts, the road manager and sound engineer for the rock band, Pink Floyd.
It sounds very cool but the actress wished her mum would turn up to school “in, like, a three-piece suit and be wearing some, I don’t know, nylon threads. They were just never those people. My mom wore leather boots, leather pants, big hair.”
I remember my daughters going through a phase of being affronted at anything I did. They didn’t think I was too cool. Sadly, it was my very existence that seemed to upset them. If they saw a friend in the street, I would be urged to keep quiet and not say a word. I could do no right in public. But I didn’t take it personally as I can remember feeling much the same way about my own folks.
I asked my youngest to name the worst thing I’d ever done. She thought deeply, then said: “You fell on the pavement once when it was really icy. And you totally showed me up in front of my pals.” And there you have it. Proof, if proof be needed, of what a thankless task parenthood can often be.
It makes me wish I had followed through with my often repeated threat, when she was little, to stage a dance outside school and express through the power of movement my deep, deep love for her. Now that would have been embarrassing.
A body swap as featured in Disney classic Freaky Friday, when mum and teen daughter switch perspectives, might have helped but, to be honest, seems a little far-fetched.
Of course, our ungrateful progeny forget the sacrifices we make, our efforts to make their lives safe and happy. It was only once I became a parent myself that I appreciated the love and care my mum and dad put into my upbringing. Maybe, eventually, mine will come to realise that, too. Although I’m not holding my breath. Especially with the little one.
Sometimes, accidents just happen. My friend Fi worked full-time when her kids where young so didn’t often get to the school gates for drop-offs and pick-ups. As a result she wasn’t really part of the mum cabal, that terrifying clique of women who basically run the show.
But one Halloween she thought she’d make an effort and volunteered to help out at the P6 disco. She turned up in full Gothic witch attire only to discover she hadn’t got the memo and was the only parent who’d donned fancy dress. It was a seminal moment in her motherhood journey, she says. Warts and all.
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