Sunday, 31 May 2015

Week 190- Big Daddy, downing shots and crowd-surfing like Eddie Vedder...

As I type, I am currently sat very sheepishly on a pile of cushions.

My back is so bruised it feels like I have been clotheslined by Big Daddy.



And I can’t complain about it out loud.

As this is isn’t an injury caused by tripping over my son’s walker.

Or slipping on a rogue soggy rice cracker.

Or from carrying the pram up and down the millions of stairs to our front door.

No. My back is so sore I can’t even put my coat on because I fell off a stage after an evening of celebratory drinking on my friend’s hen do.

Or if could have been from falling off the table I was dancing on.

Or both.

I can’t remember.

See, I think if you want to have a good night out. I mean a proper ‘dance till your feet bleed, sing till your voice is so horse you sound like Darth Vader’, night out...

... then go out with a mum of small children.

Because we are so massively delighted to be out, so hugely excited to be listening to music that doesn’t instruct you to touch your head/ shoulder/ knees/ toes, that we are absolute quality for money.

And often a cheap date too.

With little opportunity to get involved in hard liquor at home, two Sambuca’s and we’re absolutely floored.

We’re the first on the dance floor, and will dance to ANYTHING. Fire alarms, lift music, mobile phone ring tones. It doesn’t matter.

We often have no idea what the music is anyway, unless it’s been a question on Ken Bruce’s Popmaster or a dance routine on Milkshake’s Bop Box.



But most importantly, we’re a right laugh.

That’s partly because we don’t give a shit about what anyone thinks.

Once you’ve pushed out two babies in front of several midwives and student doctors, the thought of an impromptu twerk in the pub to BeyoncĂ©’s 'Crazy in Love' somehow doesn’t seem to register on the embarrassment scales as highly as it may have done pre-children.

So, if you’re putting together your dream night out guest list, have a think of any of your friends with kids.

Don’t think we won’t be up for it because we’re tired/ got to be up early/ are too grown up or sensible now to neck Tequilas and ass dance to Status Quo (no she didn't…)

But, and this is just a small plea, if you see us looking like we’re going to throw ourselves off a stage like Eddie Vedder...



... just shout 'NOT A GREAT IDEA!' or something along those lines. 

Because it’s a total bastard trying to carry two children the following day.


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