Sunday, 20 November 2016

That's what friends are for...

I was at my best friend's house on Friday night for a Fish'n'Fizz night.  Mrs S, as you know, has recently moved into her new house (the one which saw me on lying on my stomach painting skirting boards, as well as my left boob, one pair of glasses and daughter number two's brand new Converse trainers) and she invited me and several other long term pals who live in her village, to spend the evening at her's, to celebrate. 

The husband, out for a meal with daughter number one, as neither of them had a better offer, had suggested that he dropped me down there so that I could partake of some of the Fizz.  As daughter number one was driving, this meant that the three of us getting into her miniscule car.  I bagsied the front seat, so the husband was in the back, his little nose pressed up against the rear window, and his legs in a position which wouldn't have looked amiss in a yoga class.  Luckily, it was a very short journey to Mrs S's house, and the husband was more than a little relieved to stretch himself out of his Half Downward Dog pose which had been necessary to get him in the back of the car.

So off they went to spend the evening with a dirty Mexican (I never ask questions) and I walked into the den of iniquity known in hushed terms locally as 'Number 3'.

Imagine my joy to be faced with several friends, some of whom I haven't seen for quite a while.  We had a fantastic evening and managed to cover many topics over three hours, none of which would be a shock to any woman between the ages of 45 and 55 if you know what I mean.  There was a lot of reminiscing, as the six of us have around 150 years of friendship between us, and there is something quite comforting knowing that you've shared some rather questionable life experiences (chiffon shorts - what were Mrs S and I thinking of) and survived.  It gives me hope when I look at our four....

Saturday saw a couple more large children arrive at the house making a total of six now.  We ran out of sofa space at about 3.45 yesterday, so son number two and ELL retreated upstairs to free up space for the husband and me.  This is one of the main problems with adult children.  They are all very tall, and like to sprawl, leaving me and the husband perched on the edges of the sofas like a pair of crinkly old lovebirds. 

On his way here, son number one messaged me to ask if the fridge was full.  I replied that it was, but I just couldn't guarantee that it would be full of what he wanted it to be. I'm not sure that rocket, goat's cheese and Petits Filous were on his list, but hey, you know what they say...

My house, my fridge...
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