Tonight I get the pleasure (read: sarcasm right off the bat) of going to one of those crazy ass loud places where some brilliant genius rents himself a big warehouse and throws a jungle gym of sorts into it and invites every germ infested, snotty, smelly rug rat in to run around, yelling and screaming and generally partaking in all the behaviours that us parents highly discourage our youngsters to be involved in. I have begun the pre-party personal preparations:
- Advil infusions started hours ago so that I will be sufficiently medicated before entering the scream fest.
- I have texted my partner in sarcasm to ensure her attendance – think Statler and Waldorf from the Muppet Show – you remember right?
- I have an emergency beverage or two in the fridge to enjoy if I happen to live through this adventure without hurting someone.
- I have been practicing meditation to calm my mind and get the images out of me tripping kids as they run by me like rabid dogs.
- I have my “I’m just his Aunt, I don’t know why he did that, find his mom”, cover story completely formulated just in case the kid I bring acts like a complete idiot and I have to save myself from any embarrassment.
If I live through it, Part Two will follow.
