Saturday, 5 November 2016

Who are you...

You know what happens when you have two nights out on the trot planned?  At around 5.00 on the evening of the first night out, you start to worry whether it's a good idea to have two Big Nights Out.  Luckily for us, last night's jaunt was a relatively quiet party for a friend who has finally reached his 50th birthday.  Drinks, curry, parking ticket (that husband of mine wouldn't listen), home to bed, that kind of night.  Saturday night however, looks to be slightly messier....

Miss R is having a belated Halloween Party tonight.  As you know, my birthday falls on Halloween, so I look upon any Halloween party as my own personal event.  I plan my costumes meticulously, and much thought goes into wearing the right outfit.  I have organised the outfits for me, the husband, daughter number one, son number two and ELL.  I can't say what we are going as because I don't want to ruin the fun when Miss R opens her front door around 8.00pm tonight, but I am actually more worried about the drive over.  The husband will be driving (I haven't told him this yet), and when I tell you tomorrow what he went as, you'll understand why I am so worried.

Our neighbours are having fireworks in the meadow again this year, and the husband has worked out that we could go there first before heading over to Miss R's.  Again, bearing in mind how we will be dressed, I may stay in the car and wave from the window...

Going back to fancy dress, I absolutely love dressing up, and am the proud owner of four IKEA bags full of costumes and props.  My favourite costume, which absolutely nobody has had the balls to wear yet, is a full size whoopee cushion.  Now I can think of nothing better than wearing something which doesn't require stomach sucking in, sensible shoes, nylon or a hat.  I suppose this is why I have opted for the costume I have planned for tomorrow.  I will be able to let it all hang out, and no one will be the wiser as to what is going on underneath.  I can also wear fairly sensible shoes, which is great - there be no stiletto heels sinking into the grass as we 'oooh' and 'aaah' at the fireworks. 

Talking of fireworks, there have been a couple of close shaves (literally) over the last two years with Roman Candles turning into Scud missiles and Catherine Wheels becoming Wheels of Fortune as they break loose from the wonky fence panel at the end of the garden.  When things go wrong, the female contingent always shout out great advice, such as 'Are you sure you have it up the right way?'  or my personal favourite. 'You mustn't go back to an unlit firework..'  I'm not one to encourage dangerous activities, but surely you are going to have to go back to it at some time?  Maybe when you are getting the deckchair out of the shed several months later, it might be safe.

Of course, the men (always men as there is a naked flame involved) are always in charge of the fireworks, just as the women are always in charge of the washing up.

Oh, and the costumes.  We're always in charge of the costumes.

After last night's parking ticket, the husband would do well to remember this next year...
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