A Night Off

I was allowed out alone on Saturday night. It was brilliant, and it was a bit odd. As I walked to the pub, unencumbered, I felt like I’d left a vital item of clothing or a leg behind.  I experienced a definite thrill when I realised I was out on the street and it was actually getting dark.  Then I got to the pub and there was a crowd of adults, drinking alcohol and talking about adult, non-poo related things (though thinking about it the two are not mutually exclusive).

The birthday girl and her partner have a small child too so they were also wide-eyed and dumbstruck for a bit.  We did our best not to talk about children for our own benefit as well as the childless guests there and frankly by the time I was tucking in to my third pint (you don’t really ‘tuck in’ to a drink do you?  But I was tucking into that one, definitely) I had forgotten I even had children.  I can’t take my booze since I reproduced.  By the end of the third pint I was texting Trulove to tell him how much I love and missed him. After two hours away.

Booze, I had forgotten, makes you into such a sparkling conversationalist.  I can’t remember what we talked about but we laughed tinklingly, debated wittily and were easily the coolest people there, even though it was jazz night and the band had a double bass in it (am I the only person who thinks the double bass is the coolest instrument in the world?).  And even though I was wearing a pair of cords I bought in Sainsbury’s.

I made my way home and it was PAST MIDNIGHT.  I flirted with a stranger at the bus stop (and then wished I hadn’t when he offered to walk me home).  I lurched through the front door.  I didn’t quite forget my mumsyness as I remembered to take the puff pastry out of the freezer for the next day’s lunch, but I did forget to take my eye makeup off before I crashed into bed, apologising profusely to Trulove for being a piss-head, as is my wont when I’m drunk.

Trulove claimed he didn’t mind the drunkenness or the late night.  But when I stumbled bleary and hungover out of bed late next morning, Ziggler had somehow got hold of a kazoo.

What a laugh.  I definitely need to get drunk more often.

 

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About vickola

Bad housewife.
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One Response to A Night Off

  1. This sounds strangely familiar… I love how you stumbled home to take the puff pastry out of the freezer – it’s like being a mum is now hard-wired into us, no matter how much alcohol is consumed!

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