Hell is a children’s party where the adults are outnumbered 10 to one. I know. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it with my own eyes – and moreover, I’ve heard it with my own ears.
Before I set off with the kids to the party, my husband – who was planning to join us at the end of the festivities – asked: “Will you be drinking?”
“I think most of the parents are doing the drop’n’run so there’ll be, like, three adults to three thousand children. Fuckin’ oath, I’ll be drinking.” I replied. “Why?”
“Well, if you’re going to drink, I’ll cycle so I can drive everyone home in the Star Wagon,” my husband replied. (Note: This was not – I repeat NOT – because he expected me to get shit-faced. No, really! It was because I’m still on my P plates and I can’t even look at a bottle of alcohol before I take charge of a motor vehicle).
“You could always drive over in the Love Bus and we can leave it there?” I suggested. (And yes, The Love Bus has recovered from its last little meltdown – see “Trouble” – and YES, it remains parked outside our house, as unsold as an offal pie at a kindergarten cake stall.)
“Forever?” my husband asked, hopefully. “Hey! Maybe MotherOfCrankyPants and FatherOfCrankyPants will buy it from us!”
“Yeah, sure they will,” I said and patted him on the head.
“Aren’t they having a jumping castle? They’ll need a van to return it!” my husband said triumphantly.
“Doesn’t the guy come and pick it up? You know, Mr Jumping Castle Man?” I replied.
“That’s what everyone thinks. But there’s fine print in the contract which says they’re responsible for returning it by 6pm else they lose their deposit…”
“… which must be at least $3000…” I joined in, my enthusiasm growing.
“… so if we sell the Love Bus to them for $2700, we’ll save them $300!” my husband concluded.
“We’d be doing them a favour!” I exclaimed. But then I remembered: “They actually have their own people mover, actually.”
“Yeah, but they won’t want to get that dirty,” my husband argued.
“Certainly!” I enthused. “That shit’d cost at least $3000 to clean up!”
“In which case, we save them money again!”
“Hooray for us!” I clapped and cheered. “We really are very kind to MotherOfCrankyPants and FatherOfCrankyPants.”
Now, let me remind you all that the above conversation took place BEFORE the party. Of course AFTER the party (see first paragraph), followed by a three hour debrief-by-way-of-alcohol at the CrankyPants home (during which the hosts refused outright to buy the Love Bus from us at least three times – ESPECIALLY after Mr Jumping Castle Man came and took away the Jumping Castle free of charge), my thoughts about the Love Bus were quite different and went something along the lines of:
“Stupid fuggin’ piece of Love Bus crap.”
Honestly, anyone interested in buying it? It’s got LOADS of personality!