Posts Tagged ‘KC’

I don’t know about anyone else but I really love an ‘adult sleepover’ – you know, when you stay over at a friend’s house (often with your kids) instead of having to dodge breathalisers or taxi driver small talk on your way home.

I mean, what’s not to love about staying  in someone else’s house where they’re in charge of the meals and the dishes, you get to tuck your kids into beds made by someone else and then sit and drink and chat and laugh until the early hours of the night before rolling into yet another bed made by someone else? It’s perfection itself.

And so I was particularly pleased when the kids and I were recently invited by our good friends KC and MM to have a sleepover while my husband went un-flatpackin’ crazy with our new kitchen.

I am sad to report, however, that our sleepover became more about sleep than anything else. Both MM and I fell asleep on the couch during the last fifteen minutes of watching 80s classic ‘Heathers’ and KC ended up throwing a couple of blankets on me and dragging MM and herself to bed before it was even 9:30PM.

“You can’t let this be known,” KC told me the next morning. “My reputation as a party girl will be ruined forever more.”

(Now, I’m not sure where exactly she’s earned this reputation but I should add – to minimise damage control – that the last time KC came over to my house by herself she brought not one but TWO bottles of Prosseco and, handing them to me, gleefully exclaimed “I’m an enabler!!!”.)

Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know that we made up for our lack of a ‘Wild Night In’ with the grim discovery that Tiddles McGee and The Pixie were both hosting sizeable lice settlements on their scalps. KC and I subsequently got to sit outside for two hours in the freezing cold and occasional light rain shower while we carefully (and somewhat obsessively) combed through the kids’ hair in full daylight.

Yes, we are a pair of regular Good Time Gals.

Afterwards, KC kindly checked my scalp. Luckily, her extensive search uncovered only a small number of adult lice and no eggs.

“Let’s hope they were new arrivals and just didn’t have time to get into some hot louse-on-louse lovin’ action,” I remarked. “Unless, of course, they’re all females and it was hot louse-on-louse lesbotic lovin’ action. That’d be okay…”

At this point, MM passed by. Since he is a well-read sort, I thought I’d check my theory with him.

“Do you think there are lesbian lice, MM?” I asked.

“To be honest, I haven’t really thought about it,” he replied.

“Sure, you haven’t,” I said. “Sure.”

You see, I knew he would have. His mind has never been the same since I accidentally made him look at hardcore man-on-man porn.

Anyway, for the record, I’m hoping there really *are* lesbian lice and that those brave pioneers who chose to set up home on my scalp were some of them.

Unless, of course, they were progressive lesbian lice who had arranged a different sort of ‘adult sleepover’ with a gay lice couple on Tiddles McGee’s scalp before moving to mine… in which case, I think it’s fair to say that me and the lesbian lice are all fucked.

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Someone once told me that before you name a child you should stand on the back door step and shout out the name repeatedly to see how it felt.

Obviously, nobody had ever done the backdoor step test before naming my childhood dog ‘Fish’. I should add here that Fish came to us already named so no member of my family was actually responsible for her name, but still. Standing in the middle of a park yelling “Fish! Come here!” to a dog is just not cool, no matter which way you look at it.

Anyway, one day Fish fell in love – in the way that bitches do when they’re on heat – with a local dog. We called this dog ‘Big Dog’ because, well, he was big and he was a dog. Big Dog was drawn to Fish – in that way that male dogs are drawn to bitches on heat – and took to hanging outside our property a lot.

One night, my father woke suddenly and flung open the back door in time to catch Fish and Big Dog  in flagrante delicto (or “At It”). Big Dog was so startled by my father’s sudden shouting that he took off before he’d finished, dragging poor Fish along with him all the way to the fence, where he finally extricated himself and jumped for freedom.

Sadly, Fish never saw Big Dog again and 62 days later, she gave birth to seven puppies and spent the remainder of her life sighing with the distinct air of someone who had been extremely hard done by.

Chance would have it that a recent incident made me think of this story. As it would.

I was just finishing the dishes when my friends KC and MM arrived (bearing wine) and I showed MM the two cups I had found, trapped together in an act of unholy union, who I had been trying to rent asunder all day.

“Should I be soaking them in hot water or cold water?” I asked MM.

“Hot water makes it expand, so … uh… yes,” MM replied, somewhat distracted. He had only just arrived and was still unpacking the wine (there was a lot of it).

“Really? I’ve had it soaking for a while now and it’s still stuck,” I remarked and started running it under the cold water tap to no avail. “Should I put it in the freezer?”

“I think that would just make it worse,” MM said. He was  no doubt thinking – like I was – of that scene in Dumb and Dumber where either Jim Carrey or that actor who I always think is Bill Pullman but who isn’t Bill Pullman got his tongue stuck to a chairlift pole.  But actually, I think it was probably just me thinking that. MM is a bit more highbrow and was probably just thinking of one of the later Police Academy movies in a totally unrelated fashion – as is his wont.

I was just about to put the cups aside in the hope that the situation would resolve itself when KC entered the kitchen.

I explained the situation to her.

“No, not warm water! That’ll make the cups expand,” she said. “Cold water didn’t work, eh? What about the freezer?”

“You know, you’re pretty much saying exactly the opposite of what I said,” MM remarked.

And so of course, like any husband and wife, they had to fight it out, tug-o-war style…

… but to no avail.

“I think you’ll just have to call it your ‘Double Cup’,” KC concluded, with the air of somebody who’d found a Proper Solution for the problem.

However, my face must have shown that hell would freeze over before I could drink out of two cups fucking, because she secretly kept working on the problem for the next half an hour. Finally, using methods unknown, she freed them.

Phew! Our problem seemed to be over, but then…  62 hours later…


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