We are going away for a night without the kids. This has not happened for more than two years and I am not sure if I can behave normally. We’re off to a wedding and I am torn between partying with my husband and lots of people I don’t know, or drinking three pints of water and sleeping for 14 hours in a large clean bed, without anyone kicking or peeing on me.
I’m not worried about leaving the children, but I do feel a bit sorry for the grandparents. We sneak out of the door as they are being persuaded to crawl on the floor pretending to be horses, while Milk and Mayhem play knights. I shut the door to Milk screaming and waving a wooden sword, and Mayhem shouting “charge!” and running into the wall.
I have packed a 35 litre bag for one night. My husband walks out of the house with his suit over his shoulder and his wash bag under one arm. When we reach the hotel we buy a drink in the bar and stare at other people, trying to guess if they are going to the same wedding.
“Do you think I can get away with wearing my gold trainers instead of heels?” I ask.
My husband looks at me. “I don’t think you should be wearing your gold trainers outside your imagination.”
“I just think I’ll be so much more comfortable, that’s all.”
“Well I’m pretty comfortable sitting in my underpants, but I’m not doing that at a wedding.”
The wedding involves lots of waiting for people to do things. Waiting for the bride to float down the aisle, waiting for the readings about love, friendship and hope to be over, waiting for the rings and the kisses and the cake to be cut. Waiting for the photographer to organise 100 drunk people to all look the same way and smile with their eyes open at exactly the same time. It occurs to me as I wait in a line to shake hands with lots of people I don’t know, that I have waited two years to have fun with my husband, and here we are, still waiting.
“I think we should get this party started,” I say grabbing his arm and steering him through the maze of tables and chairs to our place. Our table is behind a large pillar but if we shuffle our chairs to the side we can see the top table through an extravagant floral display. We must have been the people who said yes, when they thought we would say no. It’s a lot of fun being on the odds and sods table, and I am not drinking water. I’m enjoying eating without someone regurgitating food into my hand or throwing cutlery at me.
I miss the speeches because I’m queuing for the loo, and talking to a girl who uses a plastic funnel so she can stand up and wee outside, instead of crouching in a bush with nettles tickling her bum. She offers me the funnel, hidden in her bag, like a drug dealer showing her wares. I’m not sure what to do, so I tell her I’m going to be sick and run away.
My husband is waiting for me on a haystack with a jug of Pimms and a bottle of Champagne. We do not drink responsibly. We do not drink water. We sleep for three hours on top of the clean white bed.
In the morning we stare at our cooked breakfast. I use the napkin to dab my forehead.
We decide we won’t go away ever again. It would surely be better for everyone if we just pretended to be horses for a bit and then sat in our underpants on the sofa.
Milk and Mayhem 