Hottest waiters 2014 …

Yesterday wasn’t the best of days.

I catastrophised my arse off about a meeting that’s coming up. I decided the sky would fall down when it took place.

Until 3pm, when it was time to pick the kids up from school.

Can’t really catastrophise while preparing afternoon snacks and packing flippers for swimming lessons.

And then there was the whole promise I foolishly made that I would definitely, positively, absolutely join the kids in the soupy murk that is the local indoor swimming pool before their classes started.

I took a green rubber ball for us to throw around. The kids thought throwing a green rubber ball around for 40 minutes was ace fun.

I had a laugh too. Especially when I clocked them square in the forehead a few times.

I’m a bit of a sadist like that.

Afterwards we headed to a pizza restaurant described by some of the youngest’s classmates, a school mum and Time Out Sydney as “Best Pizzeria 2013”, Via Napoli in Lane Cove.

Nom, nom.

I think it should also win “Hottest waiters 2014”. All these young, dark, accented fellows milling around making me do invisible “o” faces. Damn being 46.

We ordered salt and pepper calamari to start, then showed amazing self-restraint by going for the smallest pizza on the menu for main (the restaurant is famous for serving 2m long ones!).

We went for the sausage, hot salami, mild salami and ham pizza. The waiter warned us that the hot salami was super HOT. I assured him the kids were up to the challenge … but he was right, the youngest looked like she was going to expire …

The eldest took it in her stoic stride … (note the swimming google eyes)

Then the young uns shared a choc mousse for dessert.

On the way home we turned the car stereo up as loud as it would go without distortion. Our favourite song hadn’t played by the time we hit our turn off, so we drove onwards into the night, tooling through the suburbs.

Finally “Tusk” filled the car and we shouted along. Can’t really catastrophise while playing “Tusk” full bore.

Why don’t you ask him if he’s going to stay?
Why don’t you ask him if he’s going away?

Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?
Why don’t you tell me who’s on the phone?

Why don’t you ask him what’s going on?
Why don’t you ask him who’s the latest on his throne?

Don’t say that you love me

Just tell me that you want me

Tusk, just say that you want me

Don’t tell me that you…

Tusk

Tusk, Tusk, Tusk, Tusk, Tusk

Goddamn I love my kids. They chuck catastrophising out the window and replace it with delirious optimism.

Do you ever catastrophise? What’s your trick for snapping out of it?