You know that one where you call home from work, ask if you need to pick anything up on your way Â home, are requested to buy pizza for the kids because you’ve forgotten you’re heading out, and then you drop in at the supermarket on the way home – buy requisite pizzas – and walk into the house to be greeted by world war three? That pretty much sums up the beginning of the evening.
I did the Bad Cop LEGO Movie trick after walking into the house. It’s worth pointing out that I have learned (the hard way) to keep my mouth shut until I figure out (a) what my other half has already said to the kids, and (b) what I should be saying to fall in line with her.
All manner of threats and recriminations were leveled at the children. They nodded, and remained surprisingly quiet through dinner, before we left for a fund raiser event – leaving our eldest in charge of them for the evening.
An hour later we found ourselves in the junior school gymnasium, surrounded by vague acquaintances, and familiar faces to take part in a quiz night fueled by copious quantities of alcohol – which we did our best to consume as fast as possible during this rarest of nights out.
I made it at least to round five before I didn’t really care any more. All of the intelligent conversation around the table descended into the gutter at about this point, and all the women at the table seemed to become more interested in who their celebrity shag might be than what the title and recording artist of a five second clip of a random music might be.
We got SO drunk.
And we won the entire quiz.
A table in the middle of the room (that came second) filled with old people apparently called us “cheating bastards” as the final scores were announced. I can quite proudly state that none of our table switched a mobile phone on throughout the entire quiz. My own general knowledge only seemed to extend to 1970s and 1980s television programmes – beyond that, my other half carried the team through pretty much every round. This also explains why I don’t play Trivial Pursuit against her any more.
I don’t think I’ll talk about the magical shirt one of our number was wearing, which could be arranged to distract even the most pious of men – let alone teenage boys marking our score card at the end of each round.
The walk home was perhaps even more entertaining than the quiz night. You know when you have been friends with somebody for long enough that no jokes are “off the table”? A good friend that lives across the way made some innocuous comment that my wine addled brain turned into something rather salacious. I of course emptied the thought out of my mouth immediately, and she slapped my shoulder really very hard indeed. Minutes later she admitted she hurt her hand.
I don’t know how we’re ever going to explain walking through the wet grass of the green outside our house, and the direction it caused the conversation to go. The simple question “are you soaking too?” nearly caused people to have accidents where they were standing.
A fun night. The kind of night where you tell your friends “why don’t we do this more often”, before waking up in the morning to the same old chores, and forgetting all about the hilarity of the night before – which is why I’m writing this I guess – in hopes of remembering at least a little of the shenanigans in the morning.