If you thought the title would lead to a piece about sexual fetishes you are wrong – well wrongish. A programme on television last night dealt with a fad among women of a “certain age” (post menopausal insanity syndrome) for buying fake babies and acting as if they are real.
These women, all well heeled and expensively if often somewhat pikeyly dressed so love their little rubber darlings they spend small fortunes on designer baby clothes, expensive prams to take their obsessions out promenading and even join clubs where they can meet other women who share the delusion. Here the fake mums sit around chattering mumsily while the fake babies spend “quality time” together.
I kid you not. Read on, it gets worse.
What struck me about the proxy babies is what ugly little fuckers they all are. I’ve seen some ugly babies in my time but these truly have faces only a mother could love. Perhaps that is the idea.
This business comes from America (where else) and that is where all the suppliers are based. So British nutterxxx customers have the added expense of flights and hotels in order to attend their assessment, counselling and bonding sessions. Oh yes, it is necessary to prove one is a suitable parent and can provide an adequate home before being allowed to “bond” with the rubber baby. Madonna has less trouble buying real babies.
The husband of one of the women featured thought it “all a bit sad.”
For me though, the most poignant things in the programme were the bewildered and deeply disappointed expressions worn on the faces of these women’s long suffering husbands.
One, as he stood and watched his wife spend several hundred pounds on new outfits, took on the appearance of a confused and bewildered Iraqi short sighted bull buffalo that, having thought it was about to mount a Unicorn found its penis stuck in the tailpipe of a Bradley Armoured Vehicle.
“Dolls, yeah,” he said to camera, “I can see the point of collecting dolls, but these things, treating them like they are real kids? Something is not right is it?”
Another hapless hubby, older and more downtrodden, said “I suppose its harmless and it keeps her happy.” His body language however said, “my wife is an effing headcase, she’s lost the plot.”
But how does on tell an assertive, successful businesswoman she is a delusional fantasist, completely stark raving bonkers in the head? when it is so hard to tell a completely sane woman “yes, your bum does look big in that?

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