Pee Aye Are Tee Why?

I got invited to a house party this weekend. Yes I did. An actual party with people, and music and sambuca. This is a good thing (except for the sambuca, which was very very bad) It's been so long since I've been to a party that if I'd had a child during the last one, that child would have already finished school, fomented a loathing of me, stolen my car, had a spell in prison and written a book about me by now. 

I'm that popular.

Not to say that I haven't been to many parties. Back when I was in the last two years of school I spent so much time at parties I wrecked my exam results with a mixture of hangovers and ignorance. But this was when I was interesting talked about things other than the Kids. That's right, parents. The reason you're not getting invited to parties is not due to the difficultly of finding a baby sitter that isn't a convicted sex offender - it's because people know at some point you'll mention your kids. And from there it's only a matter of seconds before you've got your phone out and you're scrolling through pictures of them saying; "This is him sitting down. This is him standing up. This is him on the toilet. This is him playing with an electrical outlet..." And you'll be saying; "Oh, she's really very clever. I don't want to boast but she'll definitely be a doctor/lawyer/banker/rocket scientist/arms dealer" whilst everyone around you remembers the day they saw your precious little sweetums drinking out of the toilet. Eventually you'll find yourself sitting alone with the dim realisation that you're THAT person at the party. 

"Which one has the kid?"

"See those two people talking?"

"Yeah."

"See the bored one?"
"Yeah?"

"He's the other one."

Anyway, back to me. The friends throwing the party (who, for the sake of anonymity I will refer to as the Smiths) have a son who is friends with the Kids. Consequently we had to indulge in some subterfuge to get away without a drama. Fortunately two things worked to our advantage. Firstly the Boy has become obsessed with the educational benefits of television and has been so distracted he hasn't asked any awkward questions. This has not been without it's pitfalls.

"You can learn a lot from telly."

"Really, Boy. What have you learnt today?"

"Well... Finish Powerball tablets are great for getting rid of stubborn stains."

Secondly, they were having a sleepover at Grandma's. Grandma foolishly turned up a bit early to pick them up and unwisely said "Shall I take them now?" During the time it took her to ask this question the Wife and I had strapped the Kids in the car, shoved her out the door and double locked it.

At four o'clock the next morning the Wife and I were about 80% proof, comprised of a winning mixture of beer, Prosecco, red wine, bourbon and the aforementioned sambuca. I had been told four times by four different people that I looked a bit like Nick Frost (bastards). I had proved once again that when I dance I look like I'm falling downstairs in a set of leg calipers. At one point I had a massive geek out discussion about Japanese cinema and thereby alienated half the people at the party.

"Has he got Kids?"

"Worse. He's comparing Akira Kurasawa's 'Hidden Fortress' with Star Wars."

"Tosser."

 My favourite moment of the evening was when I was reading a note on the toilet door ("This toilet blocks easily. If you're planning something more... solid... please use the upstairs loo") when the Smith Boy ran up to me, yelled

"No poo! No poo!"

And ran away. Random.

Much enjoyment was had, and new friends made - until finally the Wife and I crashed in the Smith Boy's room (I hasten to add, he had been taken to his grandparents by that time). I caught a few fitful hours sleep before being woken up by the uncomfortable sensation of a full bladder and the discovery of a piece of Lego  jammed in my eye. And then the regret. Oh, the regret... The headache was bad enough. The cannonball I had somehow negotiated into my bowel was worse - there was a sense of foreboding about it. Like something awful that would happen out of the blue and all at once. It was bad enough to have it's own theme music. Like Darth Vader.

Some hours later I was in the toilets at the M4 services weeping silently and praying a travelling doctor would find me and administer an epidural. And then the toilet blocked when I flushed it. A battle ensued which I won't describe, but assume it was lengthy and undignified (although successful I should add. I'm not an animal). Heavens knows why by for some reason at bed time that evening I decided to tell the Boy what had happened in the M4 toilets.

"You blocked it?"

"Yeah."

"Wow! Awesome! It must have been huge! Like this big."

And to my distress he held his hands about three feet apart.