Tomorrow night I’m sleeping with all the girls from work.
On the street. For charity.
The idea is to raise money for sleeping bags for actual real homeless people, so it’s a great cause and one I’m happy to get behind and rough it for one night.
Not that I was instantly smitten with the idea.
My first objection of, “No, I don’t want to,” wasn’t rejected so much by the girls at work as it was ignored. I was shaking my head from side to side but they steamrolled on and planned the whole thing anyway. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the phrase ‘comfortable like a homeless person’ has failed to gain any traction in the English vernacular.
It was only when the idea of wearing onesies entered the picture that I really got on board.
“What sort of onesie?” I asked skeptically.
“Whatever one you choose,” they told me.
“I’m in,” I told them the moment I clapped hands on the one which looked like a giant bee. “I love it!” It’s hideous.
Once I’d committed I had a few hurdles to jump before it was a certainty. Firstly, I had to confront Tracey with the idea I wouldn’t be sharing her bed for a night. She was disappointingly okay with it.
Next, I had to consider my back. It’s shot.
“We’ve organised refrigerator boxes to sleep on,” the girls told me. “Just like real homeless people. It’ll be great!”
Earlier tonight I hooked up my trailer and took Master8’s mattress with the extra cushioning to the bank so I can drag it across the street tomorrow night, along with my doona, mink blankets, flannel sheets and a couple of pillows.
“Are you even allowed to have a mattress?” Tracey asked me.
If I’m not I will simply take my doona and go home.
“And what? No electric blanket?” Tracey scoffed at me as I prepared my pile of Manchester.
“If there’s a plug available for that I’m taking my laptop,” I told her. Mind you, there’s no Wi-Fi in the middle of town.
Which brings me to the other pile on the dining table – games. I’ve got Boggle, cards, Uno and Rummy-O. I need my distractions.
The other thing I’m taking with me is my eight year old son. I think this is a great opportunity for some one on one time with him. Plus, he’ll be like a living hot water bottle snuggled into bed with me.
Master8 is so keen he nearly cried today because he’s been sick this week and we told him he can’t go if he’s not better.
“But I have to go,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll have to wait a whole year to do it.”
What a funny bugger: he thinks I’ll do this twice.
So that’s the plan for tomorrow night. I’m envisioning games, chatting and a pleasant night’s sleep.
I mean, what could possibly go wrong? I guess you’ll find out when I tell you all about it in Saturday’s post.
When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’ Facebook Page.
’raising a family on little more than laughs’