A pox on both your houses

I was agonizing over how to make amends with the parents of Sprog 1’s best friend when a text message arrived … from the best friend’s mother. My heart clenched. I opened the message and nervously read the first few words: “Sorry to tell you this …”

Sorry to tell me what? Without bothering to read the full text, I started envisioning the worst: “Sorry to tell you this … but my daughter can no longer be friends with someone whose mother arrives drunk at dinner parties and vomits before the main course. We are not comfortable about our child being in your care at any time.”

Noooooooo. After the hell Sprog 1 went through to find a new best friend, could I have ruined it?

Then I took a deep breath, told myself to take a chill pill and read the rest of the message: “but Lara has chicken pox …”

Wha? Huh?

Ohhhh, not about me at all. A message to apologise for potentially spreading chicken pox during the sleepover on Saturday night. I felt oddly relieved about my child merely being covered in red, itchy spots and having a week off school. Phew!

Since climbing off the ledge, I’m feeling a bit less cheerful about it. I could really do without chicken pox in our lives. We’ve all been immunized, I think … But still. It doesn’t seem to entirely stop them. Bugger.

On the brighter side, I’m not the only one embarrassed about events on Saturday night. One of us passed out, the other passed the plague. We’ve both agreed to forgive each other’s transgressions and I’ve promised to organize a redux dinner for next school term. One where I don’t start drinking at 1pm and adjourn to the bathroom to puke at 7.30pm.

PS Keep sending the shame stories. Reading about other people’s alcohol-fuelled stuff-ups is making me feel much better about my behaviour on Saturday night.