The Social Whirl

It’s been a mad week.

Well, in fairness, that’s probably not true, if I was in my twenties, and a city slicker still, it would probably have been a very ordinary week. 
But for those of us who have had our fortieth, and live in the country, and become alarmed when the phone rings after 9pm and jumpy when the doorbell rings unexpectedly, it’s been quite an adventure, since last weekend.

On Monday I went to see my friend and her children.  Because I’m such a country mouse these days, my visit necessitated an overnight stay.  I arrived armed with wine, and toys to bribe her children into liking me, and had a lovely time with them all. 

But wine on a Monday night is a bit of a treat, and I have to say, part of me was glad when she said at eleven o’clock that she had to go to bed, since her new little son would have her awake for most of the night. 
I’d already had three glasses, which is about six times more than I should have on a week night.

We had a lovely time on Tuesday morning.  I’ve finally reached an age when I don’t get panicky when a baby roars.  Obviously, if he’d needed winding or feeding or changing or something I would have done my best, but he had a pain, the poor little pet, and I couldn’t help him. 

Just a couple of years ago I would simply have thrown him at his mother and found a way to make it look like I was doing something productive, and so couldn’t mind the baby. Surely it’s a sign that I’ve grown up, that I insisted that his mother bring her little girl off to crèche, that he’d be fine with me?

And in fairness he only cried for a couple of minutes, he was very good.

I had a half day off that morning, and had a great time with my friend, who I don't see enough of recently.

On Wednesday night I was meeting my lovely niece, and an also lovely friend of hers.  I always have a good time with my niece, she’s fun and funny, and the best of company. 

We met in a wine bar.  I’d say it’s probably a very cool wine bar, but frankly I wasn’t impressed.  It works like this.  You go in, and give the man some money, and he gives you a plastic card, much like a hotel room key card.  You put this card in a slot in the wall, it tells you how much credit you have, and you choose a wine from the display behind a glass door.

Then you press a button to determine whether you want a taste, a half glass, or a full glass.  The wine is dispensed in a not dissimilar way to how the fizzy drinks are served in McDonalds.

This caper is referred to as their “specialist Enomatic serving system” and their website boasts “We afford wine enthusiasts a rare opportunity in Dublin to explore their passion, not only in an efficient, but also in a thoroughly enjoyable fashion.”

A right load of cockology if you ask me.

I realise I’m getting old and grumpy, but I don’t like this carry on one bit.  I thought it very much had an “Emperors New Clothes” feel about it.  They have a nice four word name for it, but it amounts to their not having to pay a student to work in their bar at night, and the customers having to pour their own drinks.  And I may as well say it,  the wine wasn't any cheaper for having to do it yourself.

The illusion of “exploring your passion in an efficient and enjoyable fashion” was completely ruined when one of the bottles of wine ran out.  The one I was drinking from, incidentally, but that was just a coincidence, I’m sure.

The single staff member in the place came along and opened the glass door, pulled a tube out of the empty bottle, a rosé, put it into a bottle of white, without even the pretence of any sort of rinsing or wiping, and wandered off again.

Now, my lack of approval of their system didn’t for a minute detract from how much I drank.  But the less said about that the better.  Suffice it to say that it was well after midnight when we got our midnight chips, and I was working again on Thursday.

Then on Friday night we had a work night.  That was great fun.  I had unhealthy food and started drinking pints rather earlier in the day than I usually would.

And last night I was at a play, being all cultured and grown up.

The social whirl, my darlings.  I was exhausted, I swear.  It’s just as well that I won’t be going anywhere for ages again.  That was probably my socialising for the whole winter, all done and dusted in a week.

 

 

 

 

 

Baby, Baby Not.

I was in a waiting room this week, when I heard a fascinating conversation between two complete strangers.
I have to assume that they were strangers, because they were asking each other questions that clearly suggested they hadn't spoken before.

So, these two women had just met for the first time.  They established the basics; names, what part of Dublin they were both from.  They quickly both said something derogatory about themselves, proving that they aren't big headed.  I think it's an Irish thing.

"Don't mind my hair, it's disgusting, I can't do a thing with it"

If these women had met in one of their houses, the conversation would have gone something like:

"Don't mind the state of this place, it's a complete kip, but I'm too lazy to clean it."

As far as I know, no Irish friendship can be nurtured until the parties have insulted themselves.

And so, in time, the conversation moved on to children.  One asked the other whether she had any, and the reply was that yes, this woman has two children.

The first woman then said 
"Oh God, that's really sad for you.  Your fun is over.  What did you have children for?"

The second woman looked a bit surprised and offended and said that she had wanted them, so she had them.  And she wasn't sorry.

"Christ, that was really selfish.  Just because you wanted them you just carried on and had them, even though the planet is completely over populated."

Then this over opinionated woman announced that it was  a great wonder that this woman had managed to hold onto her man through all this, given that the average couple has around 200 rows in the 365 days after their child is born.

The second woman said that she's glad she had her children, she's happy, and that it was her choice. 

There was a short but awkward silence, when the first woman suddenly turned to the second and suggested in a bright voice

"Maybe you could give them up for adoption, or have them fostered?"

And then the second woman finally took high offence and told the first to feck off for herself and mind her own business.

And in fairness, who could blame her?  This is a most offensive way to carry on.  The woman deserved a belt in the chops for herself.

Obviously I made this entire story up. 

Nobody in their right mind would ever say such a thing to a mother, would they?

And yet His Nibs and I are involved in the flip side of this conversation on a regular basis.

People meet us, and have brief conversations, and then say

"So, do you two have any children?"

And we say that no, we don't.  Because that's the truth.

And people tend to react in a limited number of ways.  Most people look sad and miserable and say something like

"Oh,  I don't know what to say.."
Which I don't mind, actually.  People don't know whether we've been trying and failed, or there was some other tragedy, or we didn't want them, or what the situation is.

But then they look at us quizzically and wait for an explanation. Bear in mind, these people are invariably strangers.  The ones who know us already know we don't have kids.  I don't see why we have to provide an explanation.

I know that they're waiting for a long and sad story of tests and procedures and stirrups.  There is no such story.

I know couples who've gone down the road of tests and procedures and stirrups.  I'm told that it's a really difficult, heart breaking thing to go through, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

But every single couple who don't have kids haven't gone through that particular hell.

So then they say it's a shame for us that we never had children. And we say that it's not sad at all, we never wanted them, we're happy as we are.

Some people just look bewildered and possibly slightly scandalised and move on with their lives.  Some, however, choose to keep up the conversation.

They ask us why we don't want children, and we say it was a conscious decision we made together and that we're happy with it.
Some beauties have then informed us that we must be unusually selfish not to want to share our lives with children.

Perpetuating this attitude, there was an article in the Daily Mail last week, the headline of which was 'Any woman who says she's happy to be childless is a liar or a fool'

I was enraged, obviously.  I'm not a liar.  Well, not about anything important.  I won't pretend I always tell His Nibs the truth about the cost of handbags, shoes etc.  But I don't lie about the big stuff.  And I don't like being called a fool either.

When people announce that we are selfish and self absorbed, I refuse to defend His Nibs and I.  We don't have to defend ourselves.  We have made a decision and stuck with it, and as my beloved  Dad would have said "Fuck 'em all".
I've never asked anyone to defend their choice to have kids, and so I won't defend my choice not to.  All I will say is that there's a great freedom to a life without naps or buggies or baby gates or babysitters.

I usually respond to these people with something  along the lines of
"Well, you can think we're selfish if you like, but we're not changing our minds"

Then I walk away and try to find someone more interesting and less annoying to talk to.

But I think it might be worst of all when people turn brightly to us and say that maybe it would be possible to adopt a child, or even foster.

That makes my teeth hurt.
I've just explained that we don't want children.  Why ask a question if you're not going to listen to the answer?
And if it's a matter that they don't believe us and think we secretly long for the aroma of wet nappies in our house, don't they think that maybe adoption or fostering could have dawned on us already?

Let's be clear.  I'm actually very fond of children.  We're lucky enough to have a number of them in our lives.  Nieces, nephews, friends kids,  and terrifyingly enough, the next one will be a great niece or nephew.

I love them, I think they're great.  I love the way small children think they are running the house, and indeed the world.

I love that the ones who don't like me make absolutely no effort to pretend that they do. 

And I can honestly say that I'm absolutely thrilled when each of them is born, I delight in the joy of the parents, and am fascinated by their miniscule features. I just don't want one for myself.

I have a small nephew, full of fun and divilment, who I frequently ask to give me his baby brother.  Just to annoy him, of course.
He always refuses.  And so I say "But I have no babies in my house to give me hugs".
I say this in a sad voice, and make what my sister would call my "Begging Face".

My little nephew has no patience with my perceived nonsense.  He raises his voice, and speaks slowly, as if dealing with an imbecile

"That's Normal!!"

Now, if only the eejits who think there's something wrong with His Nibs and I would take on some of his wisdom. 
He's five, by the way.