The Mild-Mannered Lawyer and I recently found ourselves waving the ‘Suburban Mums’ flag at an inner-city warehouse-conversion party full of cool people wearing ironic hats. We had declared ourselves early in the piece by declining dinner (“I ate with the kids at 5!”) and yawning a lot (“Wow, is it as late as eight-thirty already??”).
However, we were Suburban Mums With A Difference. We had to leave the party early – and not because we had to get back to the babysitter or because one of our kids was in a gymnastics exhibition at 8am the next morning. We had to leave the party early because we had another party to go to. Yes, we were party-hopping.
Had the cool people actually noticed we were leaving to go to another party, I do believe that might have been our ‘O Captain My Captain’ moment. In a way, it was lucky that they didn’t notice because I would have felt compelled to tell them that standing on chairs was dangerous and then confess that our other party was 30km from the CBD and that we were taking along our own bedding, toothbrushes and jimmy-jams. They probably would have thrown their ironic hats at us in disgust.
To be honest, it’s always a little hard to arrive at a party in full swing, clutching your own pillow to your chest. Luckily, my dear friend Muliercula (whose 40th was our second and final stop on the party circuit) was quick to show us our room for the night and then direct us to the Make Your Own Cocktail table to help us get into the mood.
Many double-strength ‘Salty Dogs’ and glasses of french champagne later, we were probably a little too much in the mood because before I knew it, we were singing (and dancing) full-pelt to Tears For Fears.
“I LOVE TEARS FOR FEARS!” I shouted over the music to the MML.
“Yeah! Roland Whatshisfacewiththebigteeth!” the MML shouted back. And I gave her the thumbs-up and kept dancing and singing until I remembered Tears For Fears were responsible for ‘Sowing The Seeds of Love ‘, a song most notable for being a pastiche of The Beatles and being about semen. Feeling a bit queasy all of a sudden thinking of Roland Whatshisfacewiththebigteeth’s semen, I sat down on the couch.
The MML joined me while someone changed over the records (Yes, we were listening to vinyl).
“I’m going to our room to remove my stockings,” I whispered to the MML. I was feeling a little hot.
“And what am I supposed to do with that information?” the MML asked.
“You’re supposed to wait two minutes and then follow me there,” I replied.
Now, before you start jumping to conclusions, I was concerned that, in attempting to remove my stockings under the influence, I’d forget to remove my shoes first and end up falling over and hurting myself – or, worse still, damaging private property. I mean, what’s the point in taking your legal counsel to a party if they’re not going to help you avoid a potential lawsuit? Shuh! I guess I could have said “If I’m not back in two minutes, please come and check I haven’t fallen face-first into a double bass” but where’s the fun in that?
Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t fall face first into a double bass and the whole point of this post is that us Suburban Mums partied as hard as anyone wearing an ironic hat and the subsequent headache that I still have, four days later, I’ve worn as a badge of honour, people! Except it’s now less a badge of honour and more a pain in the arse. Not to say that my head is an arse, mind, although you could say I got it from acting like an arse. Look, I’m going to end this post right now. Sheesh.
Hurrah!
Nothing like the fun of Suburban Mums Who Don’t Get Out Much partying!
Love it!
Did you remove head from arse yet? I mean, sorry, um, has hangover-headache gone?
It’s still lurking and probably has more to do with the ill-timed arrival of the Silent Red Ninja than me being a party animal, if I’m going to be quite honest. But still, I know how to have a good time, right?
I need an example of an ironic hat slogan. I assume the irony was in the wording rather than just the style. Because thinking as deeply as I might, I can’t see how a mere type of hat – a fedora, a trilby, a three-corner-hat – could be ironic.
Okay, okay, Mr Pedantic. They were wearing the hats ironically, okay? They were not-cool hats being worn by cool people in a cool way. The kind of hat that someone like me could put on my head and look like I was off to the Senior’s Club for half-price Pot And Parma Night. But on a cool person? Way cool. In an ironic way.
Nice one TheNDM !
I thought so!
What is it about getting older that means the four drinks you have at forty are roughly equivalent in headache-hangover terms to the ten drinks you had at thirty and the twenty drinks you had at twenty? Stupid ageing process…
I guess one benefit of all that is that it does make drinking yourself to death considerably cheaper when you’re in your senior years.
I loved the Ironic Hats. There’s a fine line between the ironic and the just plain bad. Many people don’t know where that line is. it has a lot to do with the positioning of the hat on the head.
As to the Suburban Mums Gone Wild theme, loved it. At least you didn’t end up at a Pink Tribute Night in a Townsville Hotel as my cousin did on her last Big Night. As she said “I finally get away from five (count em) kids and I get this?”
Clearly she is not as cool as the party-hopping NDM.
A Pink Tribute night? Man, she’s moving in the wrong circles. Tell her to look me up next time she’s in town.
Curse you NDM!!
I read this earlier and just found myself singing “Sowing the Seeds of Love” at my desk.
Whatever you do don’t blog about Achey Breaky Heart!
Sorry to make you sing a song about sperm, AngelaPJ. I didn’t mean it. Honest, I didn’t.
There are a few clues hidden in this blog entry which point to the fact that mine was actually the cool party. 1. The champagne was French. 2. There is a double bass in the house. 3. The 80s music was played on original vinyl, therefore making it cool nostalgia as opposed to 80s party cds. 4. They came to my party 2nd and everyone knows you go to the best party last (that said, it has been a mighty long time since I had more than one party to go to in a six-month period, let alone a night, so I could be mis-remembering that one).
I rest my case.
PLUS It had a Make Your Own Cocktail table – which is like a Choose Your Own Adventure book but with alcohol, lots and lots of alcohol.
OF COURSE yours was the Cool Party. What a way to turn 40…
Go NDM go NDM!
But seriously… Tears for Fears?
I WAS DRUNK.
As Roland Whatshisfacewiththebigteeth said, “All for freedom and for pleasure, nothing ever lasts for ever”.
That was our night, NDM.
It certainly didn’t last forever – although my headache (now mercifully gone) almost did.
What’s in a Salty Dog? Sounds like something I’d like – google here I come.
Righto, won’t be having that. The grapefruit plays havoc with several medications including statins. Bugger.
I am very impressed at the double bass in the spare room…thats the kind of house I want
Now why were you at an ironically hatted party in the first place…surely you are barred once your own ironic hat becomes either a. a frizbee or b. full of vomit or c. a new type of boat (depending on your child – please tell me I am not the only house this happens in…)
I do like the phrase “the hats of irony” though – I may have to work it into the next essay I write, just to see what they say, along with “a craze of ducks” ….
Sounds like you had a blast. I wonder if somebody filmed a ‘Suburban Mums Gone Wild’ video of you removing your stockings and put it on youtube? I’ve linked your blog
Thanks for linking my blog. I have a blast wherever I go. Even when I’m not having a blast, I’m having a blast. No, really.