I’ve just returned from buying the dress I plan to wear to Lulu’s formal next Friday night.
You already know what I’m about to say don’t you?
Now that I have it home I hate it… and I mean REALLY HATE IT…typical Pinky, huh?
I took it downstairs to seek out a second opinion.
“It’s alright, but it wouldn’t look any good on you,” commented the ever subtle eldest son, Thaddeus. “Maybe a teenager could get away with it.”
Whose dress did he think I was showing him?
I’m going to wear it anyway even though it accentuates my tuckshop arms and pot belly. It’s not the dress at fault you see, it’s the untoned, flabby, porker in the mirror that I’m most p#ssed off with.
And just for once, I won’t give a damn because I have far more pressing issues to agonise over.
Next week is going to be a hell-raiser.
My baby boy, Padraic
and baby girl, Lulu
are both attending two end-of-year formals each, on Wednesday and Friday night, for not only their own school but for that of their partners as well.
We’re talking about four separate schools here guys.
There are two dresses to be picked up from the dressmakers, two lots of make-up and hair appointments, two corsages to purchase, two suits to spruce up, two cars to organise and two valedictory ceremonies to attend.
I don’t know how I can possibly be in two places at the one time. Even though I’m only expected to attend Lulu’s formal, I want to be at the arrivals for all four of them to take photos of the significant occasions and ooh and aah with the other parents.
Formals are just so damn… formal nowadays. When I graduated from high school all we had was a crappy dance at the local lawn bowls club and then threw eggs at each other on the last day of school.
As soon as the formals are over Padraic and Lulu are both taking off to Airlie Beach for a week of Schoolie’s celebrations. Pinky will lie in bed each night, eyes protruding towards the blackness, gnawing at her fist and worrying about her babies, whilst they are whooping it up on the money they’ve managed to extort from me.
School, for my two babies is finished forever. I don’t have to nag about study or assignments, attend boring speech nights, fossick through the dirty washing for a lost uniform, attend parent teacher interviews or sell dodger tickets for the school fete ever again.Hang on… yes I do. I forgot. I’m a teacher.
There are two dresses to be picked up from the dressmakers, two lots of make-up and hair appointments, two corsages to purchase, two suits to spruce up, two cars to organise and two valedictory ceremonies to attend.
I don’t know how I can possibly be in two places at the one time. Even though I’m only expected to attend Lulu’s formal, I want to be at the arrivals for all four of them to take photos of the significant occasions and ooh and aah with the other parents.
Formals are just so damn… formal nowadays. When I graduated from high school all we had was a crappy dance at the local lawn bowls club and then threw eggs at each other on the last day of school.
As soon as the formals are over Padraic and Lulu are both taking off to Airlie Beach for a week of Schoolie’s celebrations. Pinky will lie in bed each night, eyes protruding towards the blackness, gnawing at her fist and worrying about her babies, whilst they are whooping it up on the money they’ve managed to extort from me.
School, for my two babies is finished forever. I don’t have to nag about study or assignments, attend boring speech nights, fossick through the dirty washing for a lost uniform, attend parent teacher interviews or sell dodger tickets for the school fete ever again.Hang on… yes I do. I forgot. I’m a teacher.
