The World's Worst Mothers Read Online Free PDF

stains never did come out.’
    His mother bent over. ‘I have only one wish, son. Professor Griebel said that today is the day it will be decided if you can take part in the recital at the conservatory.’
    All of a sudden the spinach ravioli tasted of cardboard.
    â€˜Promise me you’ll do your best?’
    Bruno’s stomach rumbled. It rumbled so hard that Bruno had to run to the loo and throw up.
    Later that day, Bruno leafed dutifully through the magazine his mother had brought him, as he lay recovering from his stomach upset. The Young Virtuoso contained nothing that was of the remotest interest to him: articles about three-year-olds who could play the Moonlight Sonata perfectly. Exercises for the left hand.
    He was just about to slam the magazine shut when something caught his eye. Under an ad for gross piano stools he read: We’re looking for the world’s worst mother.
    A website address was given where you could download a questionnaire. First prize: four weeks’ holidays on an island, no mothers allowed.
    Bruno went into his father’s room. He turned on the computer, opened the internet browser and typed in the address: www.worldsworstmothers.eek .
    The questionnaire was four pages long. Bruno printed it out and took it into his bedroom. He quickly filled in his name, age and address, and the question Why do you think your mother is the world’s worst mother? was not difficult to answer.
    Because she forces me to play the piano, but I would much rather box, wrote Bruno.
    Then it started to get difficult. He had to give all these details about his mother, whether she had relatives and, if so, what they were called, what her likes and dislikes were, how many people were in the household and what kind of pets they had.
    When it came to likes, he mentioned her favourite perfume, but for dislikes, he put, She doesn’t like being contradicted.
    My great-aunt Adelheid was first viola, Bruno scribbled under the heading ‘Relations’.
    He was supposed to send a photo of his mother along with the questionnaire. The only one he could find was taken on his first day at school. She hadn’t changed much, apart from getting a bit heavier.
    She’s a bit fatter than in the picture, wrote Bruno on the back of the photo. Then he folded the questionnaire and put it into an envelope with the photograph. Finally, he wrote the PO box-number address on the outside of the envelope and went and got a stamp.
    He didn’t really think he’d win first prize. There must be worse mothers than his. But it had done him good to write down what he had to put up with. Now all he had to do was post the letter.

    Emily found a note on the kitchen table: Back later. There are roast potatoes in the fridge. You can have fromage frais with them.
    The potatoes had been there for three days and had got hard around the edges. Emily held the bowl under her nose. It didn’t smell good. She got a packet of fromage frais out of the fridge and opened it. There was a furry green film on it. Not surprising, considering that the best-before date had passed in January. Her mother always said you didn’t need to pay too much attention to those dates, that most food would keep for much longer. Well, that might be true of things like sugar or tinned tomatoes, but obviously not of dairy products.
    Emily opened the larder. It was full of bottles and jars with hot sauces and pastes. Her mother spread stuff like this on her bread for breakfast, even. Emily didn’t like spicy foods. She took out a packet of cornflakes, shook the cereal into a bowl and then went into the bathroom to wash her hands.
    A red light on the washing machine showed that the wash cycle had finished. Emily’s mother had done a wash the previous evening, including Emily’s new blouse with the ruffles. Had she not hung the things up yet?
    Emily opened the drum. Of course, her mother had, as usual, stuffed far too many things