Impolite conversation

Driving into Sydney at 6pm last night – the cupboards bare at home – Husband and I decided to take the Sprogs out for dinner. Our destination? An Indian buffet. Quick, lots of variety, close to home. Technically, I didn’t need a buffet dinner, having shared a cold seafood plate, a hot seafood plate, a dozen oysters and several Diet Coke and vodkas with my mother at lunchtime. But it’s weird how hungry you can manage to be again just five hours after gorging. I piled my plate with entree nibbles and wolfed them down, too ravenous to talk. I took a brief pause when my glass of wine arrived, then dove into the curry mains. Finally, clutching my distended belly, I made little vomit noises and faces across the table at Husband. Husband asked me to stop, as it was putting him off his food. So the Sprogs joined me in making little vomit noises and faces, just to annoy him. Next, I gave him a hard time about the scooters he’d insisted on packing for the weekend and never used. (We had a barney over them in the driveaway before leaving. I have no idea why I took their inclusion so personally.). “Good thing you packed those scooters,” I said, poking the bear, “they came in very handy.” Husband took the opportunity to give his forehead a one-fingered scratch. As I watched the Sprogs eating dessert and admired their perfect little profiles, I asked Husband: “When did your nose get big?” Husband gave his forehead another one-fingered scratch and informed me that my conversational gambits left a lot to be desired. So I remain in the dark about when/if kiddie noses start to expand. Maybe I should Google it. But Google has been letting me down lately. When I Googled “hallucination + red gas cylinder” on Friday night, absolutely nothing useful came up. Which means I still have no idea why I saw one in the hallway on Thursday night. I was very cross with Husband for having left it there, until it occurred to me it was highly unlikely he had, waved my hand through it, and it disappeared. And there you have it, my latest life mysteries that need solving: kiddie nose growth rates and red-gas-cylinder hallucinations. Any ideas? (Other than avoiding too much “gamey” rose before bed and being nicer to Husband.)

TONIGHT’S DINNER: Trick or treat lollies, with buttered toast for dessert.

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