Wasted

Rule No. 1 of being a Working Mum: Never, but NEVER go out for cocktails with Women Without Children Who Can Hold Their Drink Better Than You. Last night I broke this golden rule and where did it get me? Absolutely wasted. That was after the first three glasses of wine, never mind the mind-boggling number of Cosmopolitans that followed last night at Smiths in Smithfield. My memory of the evening's proceedings is somewhat fuggy, but I definitely remember talking quite a lot of nonsense with one of my fave colleagues, Sara Abdulla. I remember being quite relieved when she repeatedly mentioned how wasted she was, and finding it particularly amusing that she accompanied this statement each time with the universally recognised hand gesture / facial expression for 'wasted'. I also have a vague recollection of sharing just a teensy weensy bit too much detail about my sex life with several women I hardly knew. I definitely remember somebody called Charlotte who kept hugging me and telling my how much she liked my 'Biog'. She said she felt like she knew me and she already loved me. See, I knew there was a reason for doing this. Somewhere along the line I managed to get my purse stolen, and I nearly lost my wedding rings, too. Quite how I found my way into a cab and safely home is a bit of a mystery, but it probably had something to do with my excellent friend (and now ex-PA - sob!), Sonie. Her text sent a few hours after I left said simply, "Thanks 4 being U. Thanks 4 coming and 4 getting trashed. You were hilarious". It's nice to think I can provide my friends with so much free entertainment.
Hangovers were never really that pleasant Pre-Kids, but really, it surprises me that hangovers spent in the company of three children under five aren't used as a means of torture. As I write this it is with an enormous sense of relief that I can finally raise my head above the level of my feet without feeling nauseous, that the kids are all finally tucked up in bed and that I have a very large bar of truffle-filled dark chocolate waiting for me downstairs bought for me by my ever-thoughtful husband.