Free Falling

Some may say I fell off the wagon.

Imagine if you will, a stream of bridled horses running out of control with a western style wagon skidding along an uneven dirt track. Discarded bottles of red and white wine are scattered along the road amongst empty boxes of chocolates, white costello cheese wrappers, and the remnants of caramello koalas. The sound of a “yahoo” or a “yeehaa” escaping from my lips as I guzzled from my third bottle of champagne.  Followed by “Oh, so what. C’mon we’re on holidays!”

There was no fall.

The jump, no, the leap from that wagon was as exhilarating as a bungee into Victoria Falls. Why does it have to be so delicious to be so incredibly naughty?

And here’s the big confession. In amongst the food, oh the food, there was a lingering thought. Maybe I might have a cigarette. And then I did.

As I danced like my life depended on it in a girlfriend’s living room, a life-long friend looked at her watch and gasped “The children, shit look at the time, we have to go home to the children!” They had momentarily slipped my mind. A fantastic party with interesting people, bubbles, and a bucket load of chocolate can do that to you.

Can you remember the greeting card in the nineties? A black and white vintage cartoon. As a single childless woman in her twenties it was always one of my favourites. A women with her mouth aghast suddenly realizes she’s forgotten something  “Oh dear, I forgot to have children.”

I didn’t forget, but sometimes at 1a.m. when I’m amongst giggles, silliness and lets just have another glass, I forget the morning consequence. It’s more than the unpacking of the dishwasher or the emptying of the bins. It’s the wash of naeseau amongst the “Mum, you said I could have lemon cordial but he said no I can’t have it now but you said yes and why can’t I have it in the blue cup, that’s my cup not her cup and tell him he has to give me my…” excuse me kids, Mummy just needs to really concentrate in silence while she butters your toast.

I woke with the usual remorse. I fretted about no longer being able to claim to the little travellers that I’d had my last cigarette in February. I’d have to share my failure.

And then I saddled up the horses.

It was time to get back on the wagon, the straight and narrow. Secretly hoping/knowing that the horses would feel the need to bolt again one day. So much fun.

So much deliciously naughty fun. “C’mon! We’re on holidays!”

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