This Sunday, May 11th is Mother’s Day in the USA — an annual bonanza for Hallmark cards, florists, restaurants and those of a sentimental disposition.

Maybe that’s why I was intrigued by this article (“Semi-detached”) which appeared in (perhaps predictably) a blog operated by a British newspaper, The Guardian. Britons are not immune to sentimentality, but usually reserve it for animals — at least in public.

Since I always enjoy and applaud heresy, here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite for the whole thing:

Motherhood isn’t something my mother made a point of celebrating, for she was notably unmaternal and seemed to resent, somewhat, having children . . . For many years, we’ve been engaged in a classic post-feminist row. My side believes that almost everything you do with your body is your personal responsibility. On her side, women are permitted to say “I didn’t have a choice” when a younger woman might think “I made the wrong choice.” We both refuse to budge from our opposing camps, but I would rather be arguing with my mother about the meanings of choice than how many children I should have or when I’m going to have them. A surprising number of women I know are pressured by their own mums to procreate. To abstain from producing grandkids might be seen as a rebuke by their mothers. Not by mine.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll tell you that my mother was thoroughly unsentimental (save with animals). Perhaps that’s where I got the trait from. Certainly, neither I nor our children make any fuss about Mother’s Day — and my wife view’s it as nothing more than marketing.

Call it disloyal, but I suspect we’d all be better off with more genuine respect for women and less sentimental flummery.

But then, I cannot spend more than a few minutes inside a Hallmark store at any time of the year without suffering from nausea.

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