Second Wind

There are two types of mums’ nights out. The first is a ‘going out for a meal’ night, when a load of us get together to eat and drink. The organising of such a night requires military precision planning, as we mums have busy schedules (in other words, we have children with busy social lives or visitors who require entertaining). So with dwindling numbers we converge on some unsuspecting restaurant.  The waiting staff are visibly anxious, as it’s not the nubile office party they were hoping for, but a bunch of knackered mothers who can no longer handle their tipple. More often than not, the conversation flows around the subject of kids, the food and drink make us sleepy and cabs are ordered by the relieved staff as we all sit around yawning. We can’t wait to go home, take off our restrictive under garments and curl up in our PJ’s.

But then there’s the dangerous phenomenon of ‘second wind’, which can lead to the far scarier ‘let loose and go wild’ night. Away from the demanding nippers and the responsibility of parenthood, occasionally we go crazy. We are not to blame. We lose all sense of perspective, someone suggests we ‘go on’ and the next thing we know we’re in a nightclub, dancing and screaming like a group of gyrating chimpanzees who still believe they are capable of attracting a mate. It’s now the turn of the bar staff to twitch nervously, as we start the evening at cocktail corner, stroll up sparkly close, take a brief trip down gin lane and end up in shot alley.

Some sort of strange after- midnight logic makes us come to the foolish conclusion that if we’re going to be shattered in the morning, we might as well stay out as late as possible, and we have to be dragged off the dance-floor, still throwing shapes, as the club closes in the small hours.

Unfortunately, it takes longer and longer these days to recover, but I won’t let that put me off. I’ll be ready and raring to go for the next night out when the call comes. In the meantime, you know where I’ll be…
at home in my PJ’s.