Wankstick Alert.

Jude Law Look-Alike was my toy boy.  I was young.  I was a foot-loose and fancy free.  He was great arm candy.  But that's where it ends.

You see, since the left-off-lift-off-move-forward moment at the airport all those years ago, I have changed.  I have become a mother.  I have become a professional.  I have become less foot-loose and more foot-tied-down.  And that's okay, because I like my life.  Muchly.

So when I arrived at the poolside braai, with The (gorgeous) Daughter in tow, we began a little game of I Spy.  The first thing that I spied with my little eye was something that began with 'f' - funnel.  And then The Daughter spied with her little eye something that began with 'c' - cases upon cases of liquor.  It was when I spied with my little eye (but did not share with The Daughter) something beginning with 'w' - wankers, en masse, that I decided to take my leave.

It's usually my gaydar that beeps uncontrollably loudly in my head.  But yesterday is was my dickhead antennae that were making this REALLY loud screeching sound - kind of like when those metal detectors sound at the airport.  I mean, there were more mohawks and tattoos than you could shake a stick at.  And total arses declaring, "Ahem, JLA, your MILF is here".

Milf?  I get it.  But you don't, cocksucker.

Total time at poolside braai of wanksticks - 12 minutes 37 seconds.

That style poolside braai just ain't my bag, anymore.  And I was a little disappointed to leave, because well, um, JLA had his shirt off.

But I did what any other fickle tart would do - I got on the phone and found me another super duper poolside braai to attend.  Gatecrash might be the word that you would use.  But great fun I had.

You see, I have this couple with whom I have been friends for the longest time.  They have children.  One of said children is the bestest friend of The Daughter.  And hanging with this couple is never uncomfortable nor is the behaviour unsuitable for children under the age of 18.  There are beers, sure.  There's wine, definitely.  And on special occasions there is also (like yesterday afternoon/evening) a cheeky little John Deere to get the party started.  But that stuff only comes out when the kids are in bed.

So reckless these jols are not.  There is no competition to see who can drink 8 litres of beer in the quickest time.  Nor do the men stand around headbutting cans of beer.  Call me what you will, but that kind of thing just isn't my scene anymore.

So I had a lovely evening.  So did The Daughter.  So did The Father, who was gladly there so I didn't have to drive home.

I feel whole today.  And not hung over.  Weird.