Sure I can be Arnold Schwarzenegger!

I am not my mother's daughter anymore. I am now my mother's Muscle. Yes, Muscle with a capital M to make me seem more threatening and important because it's like a title. Without the title of king Henry the VIII seems like a pervert shagging anything wearing a dress.

My mom is 61 now; an age where she is perfectly capable of doing things herself. I still go shopping with my mom all the time, but this week I have been a bit preoccupied with the netball as one of the girls broke her arm during practice and I felt responsible and terrible. I am officially the worst non-parent in the world therefore I locked myself in the house and was confined to my uncomfortable-yet-stylish living room couch watching horror films and eating lots of carrot cake with terribly zesty icing which just made my glands swell up and itch by merely glancing at that cake. All it ended up doing was giving me stomach cramps and making me feel like a fat faced pumpkin.

But I digress, because my mom got mugged this week. Well, kind of. She went into the store to buy a plastic bucket for some obscure reason and when she got back to her car, two men approached her in a ungentlemanly fashion as one tried to grab her handbag.

Now, my mom unfortunately has this terrible saving-habit. She finally got the car of her dreams after driving one messed up canary yellow two door piece of crap which only purpose was to embarrass me at school when she dropped me off. I once asked her to drop me off on the corner and let me walk the rest of the way with the excuse that I needed all the exercise I could get growing up and all, but she insisted it wasn't safe and let me get out in front of my class room. And that was even before Columbine, people! I feel sorry for my nieces and their popularity taking a dive before it even had a chance to bloom.

Back to the saving. Her new car has air conditioner and all the lovely perks that you bloody well pay for when buying the car of your dreams. But my mother does not use her air conditioner.

"It just eats up the gas. And gas is really expensive these days, love. We have to save every penny we can."

Yes, mother; there is a tiny rat named Tim sucking up all the gas in your tank and getting high on the fumes at the gas station. What can you do?

So my mother was hot from bothering all the shop assistants in her search for the right bucket ... eh ... I mean shopping and although it's winter, she popped her window down. Just what the two thugs were hoping for. According to Mom they appeared out of nowhere.

"Like real ninjas, I tell you!"

Because the car has a central locking system, Jackie Chan just popped up the lock which allowed Jet Lee access to the passenger side where my mom's purse was.

Now, the ladies will get it when I say your whole life can pretty much be found in your purse. In my mom's case, anyway: credit cards, debit cards, shopping cards, gift vouchers, driver's licence, pictures of the family just in case you bump into an old enemy you want to impress with rubbing your beautiful children and grandchildren's smiling faces under her nose, house keys, car keys, the safe's keys, lipstick, another set of earrings in case you lose one whilst shopping like last time and end up looking like an idiot with one earring or a trashy tart wearing none (that's Mom's opinion, not mine), you get the idea. Would you just let your precious life slip into the uncaring hands of a street thug who's about to go on the shopping spree of his life?

Neither did my mom.

She apparently yelled some things even I cannot repeat in this post and was able to grab a hold of the purse's sling. The adrenaline storm kicked in and she said she felt like Samson with the Philistine about to cause her great discomfort canceling credit cards and standing in queues longer than the audition phase in So you think you can dance. I guess it'll be more like Get in line if you've been robbed from all the crap you carry around weighing your shoulder down and giving you early onset arthritis. I'm sure it would be an instant hit. The part where you're supposed to dance for your life would probably be the re-enactment of how you were robbed. I'd pay money to see Mom do that.

The thugs evidently noticed my mom was stronger than she looked, that she in fact has the strength of 300 Spartans hidden in her matured body from gardening and picking up whining grand kids and they took off without the purse and three black eyes. She at least got some punches in, she said proud.

Mom was still pretty shaken up behind her kick-ass exterior though, and so I assigned myself to the Muscle position. I may be little, but I am strong and there is, after all, strength in numbers. Four fists are better than two? Take into account my screeching ability and awesome aerobic high kicks and we're a fierce team, Mom and I.

Being a Muscle I get free lunches and clothing items whilst doing my job escorting Mom to all the good shops in the Mall. It's not that bad at all, really. I might just quit my day job for this and who knows? Maybe I'll run for governor someday.