And this time it’s not the cuddly toy variety from the science store. An insidious lurgy has been stalking me for days. I woke up on Tuesday feeling a bit off. Sore throat, zero energy. Tidying up the house for the inaugural School Mums & Retrenched Dads Christmas Gathering was a blast. I tried killing the germs with a cheap champagne tasting session (important not to serve swill to guests), but woke in the middle of the night feeling worse. Funny that. I don’t know whether to blame the decidedly unsummery weather, the exotic green snot seeping out of Sprog 2’s nose or chasing the chooks into their house during a torrential downpour. Whatever the source, I desperately wanted to stay in bed yesterday. But there was a party to be hosted, so I popped a few Codrals and put my shoulder into it. While the flu symptoms proved oddly resistant to pseudoepherdrine, the cheap champagne was a servicable drop, so I turn myself into a human petri dish and mixed the two. A substantial amount of champagne later, I was the life of the party. The alcohol helped colour my perceptions, but I’m pretty sure the inaugural School Mums & Retrenched Dads Christmas Gathering was a success. There was much discussion of wife-swapping, anal bleaching, school dads who wave their willies around at parties (fortunately not at mine) and other salacious topics. Noise levels were every bit as high as you’d expect with 40+ children running amok. Unfortunately, 72 sausages turned out not to be enough for the masses, especially after Husband accidentally charred a dozen beyond recognition. The working partners who came on pick-up duty had to sustain themselves on beer and cheese. The last of the guests left at 8.30pm and I staggered around tidying up the house while Husband lounged on the sofa checking his texts, drinking beer and playing favourite songs on his iPad. What is it with men thinking that’s an acceptable way to end the evening when they’re going to swan off to work the next morning and leave you to pick up the pieces? My gritted teeth as I picked 200 stray Beados off the playroom floor … well, they were pretty damn gritted. As for champagne and Codral experiment, I reckon I’m more medically crook than hungover this morning. Either way, I’m not overflowing with joy at the prospect of taking four kids to Luna Park at 10am. Shudder.
TONIGHT’S DINNER: Can I possibly feed the Sprogs sausages AGAIN? Hmmm.
housegoeshome 
insidious lurgy… lol… that dictionary mr coombes said u swallowed in year 4 indubitably regurgitates itself regularly throughout your blogs…
Insidious is a great word – don’t knock it!
I have to say Husband’s post-party activities sound perfectly normal to me. It’s standard practice not to clean up until the morning after a party. To attempt it while still drunk is hazardous. And when you mention he gets to “swan off to work”, don’t you mean he reluctantly drags himself out of bed in his role as sole breadwinner?