Married Life

On Saturday night the Boy Wonder and I went out for a birthday meal for our space man friend who has survived to the ripe old age of 32, apparently by pure chance. All was very civilised until the point where he passed out in the foetal position, straddled by a lifesize model of a sheep, with the top half of his body asleep, and his legs dancing away below as though possessed by the weird drunken incarnation of Michael Flatley. However, one of the highlights of my night was when I overheard the Boy Wonder telling saying 'It's great being married - you don't really have to make an effort any more'. Now, I wasn't really concerned about the implication that now, pledged as our troths are, he sees no need to impress me so much as the flagrant lie that he ever made what could even generously be described as 'an effort' before. The night ended up, as so many do when you're a teenager but not so much once you're approaching your 30s, with someone being sick (the Space Man, naturally) and everyone rushing around with various cleaning supplies in an attempt to rectify the problem whilst he called us names and claimed that this was what the teenagers do, so all in all, a succesful evening was had by all!