DINNER & SHOW....I MEAN HOME
Remember when you could go out and eat a meal while it was still hot? When you didn’t resemble a psychopath rearranging the restaurant furniture to kiddy-proof the place? When you didn’t argue over who was driving home and who got to polish off the bottle of plonk because you lived in the city and could catch a tram home at some ridiculous hour of the night? I use to worry about bumping into a drunken stranger on my way home or being kidnapped by an axe murderer after a big night out. Now I have to worry about hitting wombats, Skippy or the local bunyip at 7pm.
Most of our new found pals in the country (all, might I add, are green changers), have children. So we all get it; the desperate looks at each other, suggesting that one day we might be able to set our hair alight and run naked in the streets swigging from a UDL can without judgment, no bath- time duties looming.
Parenthood is hard, parenthood as a green changer can be harder because you have to suck it up and utilise that license that you only got....at 25, because you felt like a loser still flashing your KeyPass at the disco back in Melbourne. It is nice to know that your new country pals understand that one hour into your partner's birthday dinner you’re allowed to exit abruptly, leaving a trail of hot chips, chewed straws and torn up napkins in your wake without a bat of an eyelid.
Happy birthday Paul!