firing on all syllables

I come from a relatively small country town. And typical of such places, everyone knows everyone else. There’s not much anonymity, and gossip is a popular pastime. 

One good thing about moving away – which myself and my siblings have done – is that we can return to visit my parents, act as shamelessly as we want, and then go home and leave them to face the tutting and head-shaking.

(As an aside, is there an Offspring of the Year Award? Just wondering.)

So with that in mind, my parents babysat Mr Squish yesterday whilst my younger sister Kurdles and I explored an old haunt near the family home. Namely, the local pub.

Why our parents let us go there, I have no idea. They should have learnt by now. Especially considering we had been joking all morning that we were going to get completely smashed.

But, in the end, neither of us really did. Don’t get me wrong, we drank quite a bit. But we just stopped short of that attractive “I love youse, mate! Nah, serioushly, I looooove youse!” territory. It was only lunch, after all.

Still, my parents and the locals didn’t need to know that. So we hatched a plan we called Making Our Parents Proud. 

Kurdles was to phone home when we were ready to be picked up. This was how that conversation went:

Kurdles: “Hi Mum! We’re fine. [Ms FOAS] is a little messy though. It’s still raining and she’s in the gutter, but I’ve put a jacket over her…”

Kurdles: “That might be a good idea.”

Then we finished our drinks, waited for Dad to arrive, and prepared to set some tongues a-wagging. When my poor, long-suffering father pulled up in the carpark, he was forced to witness yet another reason to consider moving to a big, anonymous city. 

From his perspective, this is what he saw.

His daughters emerge from the pub. They wave to him. The eldest one looks very wobbly and is clinging to the wall for support. She has only one arm through her jacket.  

The girls stumble to the gate, which they awkwardly try to climb over. The eldest one eventually gives up, lowers her leg and finds the latch. But she slumps over the door as it opens, losing her footing and almost falling down a flight of stairs.

Unsteadily, they descend the stairs. The eldest one goes down backwards, on all fours like a toddler. When they get near the bottom, she gropes blindly around to find the ground with her toe, like she’s climbing down a hazardous rock face.

Once they’re safely on terra firma, they fling an arm around each other’s shoulders, hold on for dear life, then stagger off in the complete opposite direction to the waiting car.

Of course, this all happens in full view of the lunchtime pub crowd.

Making Our Parents Proud?

Tick!

Tags: drunken misadventures, humor, humour, making your parents proud, stumbling drunk, ways to entertain yourself in a small town