“That was fantastic!” Tracey slurred at me as we pulled into our driveway, home from her 20th School Reunion.
And she was right, the night was a huge success, if something of a logistical nightmare farming the kids out and trying to work out what to do with our new cat, Minion.
I remember when I posted on Facebook we’d got ourselves a feline friend someone commented cats are like having a toddler. This might well be the case, although I’ve spotted a couple of key differences. My first example would be you have to call in favours from the grandparents if you want a night out as a couple because, unlike the cat, you can’t lock a toddler in a room and go out drinking.
Well, Tracey says ‘can’t’, I say ‘shouldn’t’.
Still, we got to spend the night having fun times chatting with old friends (Tracey) and drinking craft beer (me) and occasionally groping each other if our paths crossed.
But more on groping in a moment.
The evening had everything – friendly atmosphere, great beer, good food, a sociable crowd and, the pièce de résistance, a flasher. Nothing crude, just her undies because she was apparently sporting a lovely set of knickers from Victoria Secret. But while I was unfortunate enough to miss the
unveiling unveilings I do understand her wanting to show them off. I mean, you go to all the effort to buy something special and a little fancy and no one’s allowed to see them? Where’s the value in that?
Then there was the really friendly guy who Tracey assured me was very quiet and unassuming at school.
“Did he just grab you on the butt?” Tracey asked me when her school mate pushed past us on the way to the bar.
“He’s been doing it all night,” I told her. “I think we’re dating, but don’t worry I’m not rushing the bases.”
The whole thing escalated pretty quickly when serendipity brought the flasher (you know who you are) and the groper (you probably can’t remember much after 8.30) together.
“What colour undies are you wearing?” the flasher asked me, clearly hoping to segue her own into the conversation.
“He’s probably not wearing any,” joked my wife.
“Really?” said the groper, back from the bar…
…and he grabbed a handful of my tackle, presumably to see if Tracey was telling the truth.
I’m happy to say she was lying. I had on jocks, and was rather pleased for the extra layer of fabric between my frank & beans and the wandering hand of this ‘quiet and unassuming’ bloke who appears to have come out of his shell somewhat since graduation.
Still, Tracey really did go to school with a fantastic bunch of people, including the flasher and the groper, and I absolutely agree with my wife’s summation of the night – the evening was a huge success and a lot of fun.
Until we got home and I went to pour Tracey into bed and we discovered Minion had escaped from the room where we were holding him captive. Which would have been fine, except he couldn’t get back in when he needed to.
Which brings me to another way in which toddlers differ markedly from cats…
…which is that no toddler of mine has ever squatted and done a dump in the middle of my bed.
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’Raising a family on little more than laughs.’