So my daughter and my little brother-son person (it’s a long story) have their birthday on the same weekend. How great would it be to do the kids party in the morning and then take brother-son out for dinner at the local club? Awesome right? Yep! If they’re in the mood for me to blow a gasket, have an allergic reaction and almost have to do a sneaky hand bag vomit after seeing a prawn being decapitated…
Rightio, so we’re all sitting at a nice table, the kids are occupied and our food arrives. Yay! I’ve already had a pretty bad allergic reaction to my vodka, so my face is bright red and my brain has stopped working. I also have word salad. That’s a fun thing where I put all the words of a sentence together in the wrong order. Or get stuck on repeat and just say the wrong word for something over and over in increasing frustration until someone says the right word for me. For instance, I pointed at the drink yelling food food food until my daughter said “water”for me. Oh hilair. I also have an issue with meat, so I have sensibly ordered the fishermans basket, because where I come from, that means a whole lot of random seafood items dead fried on top of chips. Not at this place. Nope they went fancy and fucked it all up. There were open mussels in their shells and prawns with their heads on. I looked at the roof until husband person made all that nonsense disappear. Halfway through eating my now very basic fish and chips, my sister has an allergic reaction to her seafood sauce and starts violently rubbing her face and nose, which begins to bleed. Husband decides to eat her prawns for her and the sounds of him ripping their bulging, black-eyed heads off makes me nearly vomit in my wig. Which I have already taken off mid meal, because my whole head is on fire. Right, time to run away to the toilet. I go for the ones in the gaming area because that way I don’t have to walk through a room chocka block with footy players tucking into steak. My god, the vegetarian in me is fierce tonight.
I push open the doors and am immediately accosted by bright lights, flashing neons, that unmistakable pinging pokies music aaaaand my brain decides it has had just about enough thank you… it’s time for total sensory overload. In blind panic, I can’t find the toilets and run around like a headless chook, at one point scaring an old man by yelling I’M LOST IN HELL directly into his hearing aid. I find an exit and bolt. Shit on wheels, now I’m in the other part of this bloody labyrinth of a club and find myself in the dodgey bar. I see a toilet and bolt. I may or may not have been screaming. It’s hard to say. I run into the toilets that my sister described as ‘really fancy’. They are not. I’m at a whole new level of hysteria as I rush through the ugliest all-in-one, piss stinking unisex toilet/change room ever and lock the cubicle door behind me. I rip my pants down and sit. Now I am faced with the delightful vision of a human turd on the floor, over which someone has thoughtfully placed one tiny, inadequate square of toilet paper. Oh, god. So I stare at the roof, finish my wee, rip up my pants and have a quick little spew in the sink. Poke it down the plug hole, wash my hands and burst back out the door again yelling (why, why, why did I have to yell???) that there WAS HUMAN SHIT ON THE FLOOR. And as I staggered past an elderly couple on their weekly dinner out I also felt it necessary to add at full volume that IT’S NOT MINE! Sure, because that seems totally legit. I crash back through various doors, now panting and trying to decide whether to laugh, scream or cry and seem to end up doing all three. I barrel into husband and demanding that I need a HUG RIGHT NOW, where I proceeded to scream/laugh and hyperventilate.
Hug, drink, valium, breathe. Maybe I should put the wig back on as a disguise? Um, probably not, because what little hair I have is currently pink and so is the wig… huh. My sister is now involuntarily flinching and trying not to scratch her face and back. Brother is rounding up the little kids while Hubby goes to pay the tab, and runs into some clients. Brilliant. Isn’t it nice of him to bring his very special family out for dinner? It’s too late for him to even pretend he doesn’t know us. Sister and I laugh out heads off as we’re guided from the premises by our family in various stages of embarrassed amusement.
I round off this rather fabulous evening out with a primal scream in the car, which causes a coughing fit that made me ‘vomit my swallow’ which I deem necessary to announce to the whole, horrified car and then sang Kesha at the top of my lungs all the way home. Good times.
To the lovely lady waitress wondering why on earth a “vegetarian”ordered a seafood basket, I am sorry. I cannot control my inner food weirdo. And to the team reviewing the security camera footage, you’re welcome for that little display. Please don’t tell my mum I yelled at the elderly. Repeatedly. If you happen to see a leaked video of a crazed and desperate woman wandering around the pokies, screaming about hell, and scaring pleasant couples on pension night… that’ll be me.
Cheers, but not literally, because I’m allergic to alcohol. Winning.