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.