I love a playdate in the park. The kids disappear and the mums chin wag. Yesterday, the converstation turned to pelvic floor muscles. Someone had to stop jumping because, you know … A mum of four credited kegels with keeping hers taut, which inspired a group kegel session around the picnic table. All that pelvic action led someone to announce they’d heard wife-swapping was rife in my suburb. I didn’t protest too much, because you know how the saying goes … but I can’t say I’ve noticed any funny business in our street. Everyone’s far too busy buying new walking frames, signing petitions against proposed footpaths and failing to sell their houses at auction. I said I’d heard the swinging was in the next suburb, in a particular avenue. Oooh, yes, they agreed. They’re so neighbourly in that avenue. Always having drinks together on the footpath at weekends. And throwing their house keys into a bowl for afterwards (I suggested). Someone piped up with another street name, near the park. Rife with wife-swapping apparently. It got a bit like the search for Swinging Atlantis as we discussed possible locations for suburban debauchery. When the wife-swap hot-spots were exhausted, we moved on to fantastic tales of local couples serving cocaine for dessert at their dinner parties. Husband was most entertained when I told him last night. But then, he’d been at Christmas drinks for, like, eight hours. I could probably entertain him with it all over again this morning. Wondering who’s doing what to whom will add a certain frisson to Carols in the Park tonight. Fingers crossed the weather holds, otherwise we’ll have to move the party indoors. And heaven knows what might happen then … we are living in a wife-swap wonderland, after all.
DIET TRANSGRESSIONS: Small chunk of fruit cake from Baker’s Delight. Quite nice. And five corn chips at the playdate. Also nice.
TONIGHT’S MENU: Sausage sizzle at carols.
housegoeshome 
why is it not ever called ‘husband-swapping’???