Someone else's pants and a reflection

Several weeks ago, I was invited to spend a weekend – my choice of one or two nights – at a girlfriend’s beach house to celebrate her impending birthday.

Grumpy Pant’s work roster, at that time, had me under my doona, crying, as the organisation required to enable me to go was horrendously overwhelming and seemingly impossible.

“It’s not fair!” I sobbed.

Meanwhile, I busied my mind with other things, simple things like, oh you know, writing a book and rebuilding a website. Minor stuff. Just so as not to be so disappointed.

As it turns out, Grumpy’s workplace are fuckwits and the weekend became free! Hurrah! Only I’d forgotten until only a few days ago when I realised “OH! I can go!”

So I did.

After, of course, the Under 10s basketball grand final, and a hurried Stuffing Suitcase For Weekend Away, as I’d forgotten they do trophy presentations after the grand final.

(They lost, by the way … or, if you prefer, they came runner up.)

My lift arrived and of we went for a Girly Weekend Away, which consisted of sitting around eating scrumbly anti-pasto, collecting an additional guest, taking far too long to get ready to head out to dinner, ending up wearing a pair of leggings (but not as pants!) that were 3 sizes too big and belonging to the Birthday Girl because the rest of them decided that my jeans were not ok and that I “have great legs” to which I scoffed, and also they had had a few drinks.

Still, I was in someone else’s pants.

We head off for dinner, which was very delicious, and onto the local pub to kill the rest of the night and play pool very, very badly (me) and not too bad at all with some rather spectacular and unbelievable pool playing (me, also, but after I’d warmed up with a few games and a vodka based drink, and even then, only randomly), then back to the beach house to don our jarmies and eat a lot of chocolate.

Grumpy Pants was to meet me this morning so we could have a Family Day the rest of it. Off to breakfast we went, Grumpy calling to find out our location, and arriving just as our food and coffee did.

Monkey Boy was sporting a spectacular black eye, that had the Lioness Mother in me rear her head and I was ready to tear the limbs off the person who had caused it.

Of course, I was also treated to an array of emotions and feelings, mostly those involving such things as confusion, incredulity and what the fuck?!

“How did that happen?” I enquire.

“My Cousin threw Godzilla at me. He landed on my face.”

“Ummm … Right …???? Which part of Godzilla hit you in the face?”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I had a bean bag over it.”

At this point, I gave up trying to envisage what happened, and just settled for shaking my head and muttering “Bloody boys” a lot.

Some days, there is just no one to blame and nothing responsible and you just need to accept … “bloody boys” and that “these things happen”.

I did take a moment’s pause to reflect on a few things though, mostly those things that happen when I’m not there:

  • Monkey Boy with his black eye
  • Chippie knocking a tooth out at 18 months
  • Chippie sucking on the bleach soaked toilet scrubby thing …

I wish I could say “these things always happen when I’m not home!” … but they don’t …

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