Sunday night feedings have become rather a hit with us and our mates that it now moves from house to house. It’s almost like a proper grown up dinner club.
So once again the setting for today’s story: at a dinner party. This time it is hosted by the lovely and soon-to-be-successful- model Tina B. Like a proper Porra she understands the importance of a good feeding and did her heritage proud that night with a tasty bacon, pesto pasta with cooked broccoli. She gets a very definite 7, especially because of the malva pudding and ice cream dessert as well as the non-shortage of wine.
I’m surrounded by such a civilized bunch of people, it really impresses my juvenile self and hopefully my parents. At this dinner, stories of ‘your most terrible moment’ just HAD to make an appearance. There must have been something in the light fruity red Van Loveren wine we were all nursing that brought on this delightful topic.
This particular night, my Robyn made it her absolute mission to tell everyone’s stories for them, even if she wasn’t there or merely just heard about it from someone else. This can occasionally be a very broken telephone like situation.
She happily retold the story of TP’s magical attempt at pulling up her pants and instead she managed to give herself a major wedgie. No one would have known what just happened had she not drawn their attention s she yelped out in pain and supplemented it with the perfect picture of discomfort painted on her face.
Then it was on to me. My Robyn happily retold the story of a rather inebriated Dana, wearing the couch dweller Cait’s tiny dress and tripping into a club only to realise that her dress had ripped from the bum to the bra strap. Even worse is that it took 20 minutes for someone to buck up the courage to tell her before wrapping her into a table cloth.
As you can imagine, I was as pleased as punch to have everyone know that story.
So when it came round to my Robyn’s worst moment, the lovely Tina B intercepted and decided sternly and playfully that this was one story that she would tell. It was time to take her down. The tale was an enthusiastic and well told one, peppered with gruelling detail about my Robyn’s run in with the effects of punch on a party bus. The bus window wouldn’t open enough to let her stick her head out, and instead everything that came out, returned with gusto. It swished back in her face until she left the party bus as “that girl that vomited on herself”. PRICELESS!
Ultimately there were no cool points gained at this little gathering.
Moral of the story: let people decide on their own stories and no one gets their ego’s hurt.
