I'm not kidding

How good was the election? It went with a swing at my house!

The house looked beautiful on the evening. The weather was awful in the morning, then cleared up just perfectly for the party. It really was everything I could have wished for. There was a great atmosphere. It was like when sports lovers get together for a big match, only more electric. And when Maxine McKew came on and made her rapturous speech, we cheered and let off party poppers and lit sparklers (The Man is always prepared like this). RESULT!

Now, did anybody else notice the strange disparity between the score on TV the score on the internet at the beginning of the internet? Now, I was pretty out of it, I admit, as I was drinking wine rather rapidly at the same time as running around trying to be a hostess (The Man assures me I’m not very good at the latter) but I’m pretty sure the ABC had the opposite score on the TV to what was on the internet. Consequently, half the party spent the first couple of hours thinking Labor was losing. It was kind of a downer. But it made the victory all the sweeter!

I don’t mind admitting I felt a bit dodgy on Sunday. For some reason I’d forgotten to regulate my alcohol intake during the party. Then around 8 am, a pair of kookaburras broke the morning calm with raucous, chimp-like screeching. I am not the only one on our street (as I discovered at a post-mortem, hangover party) who woke up with a start, thinking that someone had just heard the news of the election and had taken to the street, laughing!

So it looks like our palm tree has new tenants, a kookaburra couple. No more sleep for me.

So anyway, I was all delicate on Sunday, and as luck would have it, two of the Man’s friends came to stay with us from overseas, bringing their young toddler with them. Now, I’m not saying this is a bad kid, not at all, but boy, you don’t want to have a weak stomach with a young child around. I can’t tell you the number of sweetly putrid smells I inadvertently inhaled in its vicinity. And I don’t know how they keep up with the child, it’s constant high maintenance. In goes another nail in the coffin of my maternal feeling!

The final straw was at dinner last night. We were in a pub having steaks and what-not. I was on the corner of the table next to the child and got to witness first-hand the slimy food smeared all over the (mercifully paper) table cloth, dropped on the floor, and the constant whinging for food so that the poor mother couldn’t eat in peace.

So, we were all sitting around a table eating our steaks, and hoping she’d eat enough that she wouldn’t feel compelled to put unspeakably disgusting things from the floor in her mouth when we’d finished, when suddenly the toddler scrunched up her face in distress and started shifting around in her seat.

“Aww, poor thing, she’s been having trouble all week” cooed the mother. Then, turning to the Man and myself, “She’s doing a number two” she announced, cheerfully. I was so aghast, I couldn’t even react – luckily. Call me a snob, but I don’t usually sit down to dinner with people who are straining for a shit. I’m not used to it. It was the ultimate horror of the evening! "I'll change her when she's finished" continued the mother, happily. I asked her how she could tell when she was finished. "By the smell!"

Nice.

So last night I pretty much set aside any remaining desire I might have to have kids.


Disclaimer: I should re-assert here in the interests of fairness that this isn’t an unpleasant child. She’s actually quite nice, I believe, as children go. It’s just that…euwwww.