Punishment For Ever Having Had Sex.

So the kiff thing about being a chick is we don't need to go out to have a night of fabulosity. In fact, we don't have to plan fabulosity to experience it. But I suppose that's true of all life: rad things happen when you don't plan for it. Which is why I have absolutely no plans to meet, fall in love with and be married to a sex-pot kadrillionaire in the next two years at all.

The PJF and I decided to spend our last night together at home, sharing the couch with her Chinese lawyer husband, Bradlow. And, let me assure you, it wasn't out of laziness. Nope, we were quite prepared to doll up in push-up bras and high heels. It was because we chose to preserve our friendship that we stayed in. Who'd be designated driver? I see no point in having a solo boozy night.

And so we stayed in. We called it Detox Night. I made a veg soup. PJF poured the wine. And we sat on the couch and watched The Hangover.

But then the strangest thing happened. I went to my room to pack the bag (a task that takes a good hour) when the PJF walked in with a pot of molten wax and another full bottle of wine. Now while Girly Wax and Toenail Night cannot replace the sheer thrill of being outrageously flirted with by hottie-hot-pants en mass, it's still super fun.

So that's what we did until the wee hours of this morning: we waxed, and drank wine, and painted our toenails and reminisced about our high school hostel days and we discussed really siff things. It was good.

And, do you know what? I think The Pant is officially properly healed. Maybe even healed enough to discard the photograph of Larry and His Daughter in my kitchen. Maybe. (But I so do still love His Daughter.)

And the punishment for having a good night with my pal? Possibly even God's punishment for having ever had sex? A children's party this morning!

I'm still reeling from all the learned mothers out there. At this particular jaunt I must impress upon you that The Daughter, product of my loins, was the oldest child. By a good year or two. So I've done all the stages that they've done. I require no re-education on teething or walking or talking or even sleeping habits. The Daughter has a full head of teeth, walks quite nicely in high heels, has a bigger vocabulary than most of the adults present and (joy of joys!) can quite happily sleep until 9 am. Thank. You. Very. Much.

But the highlight of my day? Miss Bossy Boots Know It All Mother who, upon arrival, scouted out the house for possible dangers to her precious child and then pulled out her bag of tricks and began child-proofing someone else's house.

Ummmm... Can you spell 'condescending'?

I need wine. In abundance.

Happy birthday Small Size Son of Travelling Companion.