Vodka, Hot Tubs and Tits

Through my 20’s there was vodka, nights out, some rare outfit choices, dancing and it was messy, oh so messy. Through my 30’s there was exotic flavoured gin, sunny daytime drinking and it was still messy but not so late into the night, mainly because we’d start at 2pm instead of 9pm but still.

I’ve always been more of a social drinker than a house drinker, honestly if I’m not out dancing on a table somewhere and pulling a moonie with my tit out I’d much rather have a cup of tea.  So when lock down hit and the kids stopped sleeping at grandmas and socialising ground to a halt, so did my occasional blowouts.

We had better weather here a few weekends ago so the Lazy Spa hot tub came out and the garden bar got restocked. A Lazy Spa- A genius creation that is a blow up hot tub, essentially a massive paddling pool with generator to heat it and make bubbles. Is it called a Lazy Spa because it makes you lazy once you are in it? Or because the people who have them are too lazy to work overtime to save up for a real spa? Harsh but maybe fair, I’m not sure.  But at a fraction of the price of a proper one it’s by far the better option in my opinion. Who wants to work themselves to death to  be able to afford an inbuilt one only to have your children or anyone like me who can’t look after stuff, ruin it by scratching it, breaking the controls, dropping chips in it, peeing in it, accidentally kicking the filter off when snorkelling around it, or all of the aforementioned. Why bother taking the risk when you can enjoy life with not so much hard work or responsibility and still relax in hot bubbly loveliness.

We had a square hot tub shaped hole in our garden for 3 years. Husband was a little overzealous and dug it out in eager anticipation before we had the cash to buy one. The plan was to save up for a swanky all singing all dancing slice of opulence and luxury in the form of a top of the range model. The only problem was each time we had nearly enough cash to buy one, the money was needed to maintain or repair something else so after looking at the gaping hole that should have housed our fancy bubble bath for much longer than planned we had a change of heart. We laid some fake grass golf turf stuff over the garden Stacey Solomon style, covered the hole and gratefully accepted a Lazy Spa hand me down from my brother.

Anyway I digress.. back to a few weekends ago..

The children had nattered to go to grandmas because it’s fun there and after all she is in our childcare bubble so I threw caution to the wind and waved them off happily, safe in the knowledge that they would be grandparent bonding while Husband and I let loose. I appreciate everyone has their own way of doing things and that’s fine, everyone to their own but I’ve never been one for getting shitfaced in front of the children. When my ankle biters where little I was never a fan of these child friendly BBQs with friends. All day drinking in a garden with friends – yes I’m up for that. All day drinking in a garden with friends and every man and his dogs kids running around, but it’s ok, it’s kid friendly because there’s a paddling pool/ swing/ sand pit in the garden- No, I am not up for that. Personally I have to know that mine are safe and sound and not in any danger of dying the nano second I look away to talk a gulp of my mojito before I can relax and let my hair down, plus if I get into the situation of being on the wrong side of my 5th or 6th drink I certainly do not want little eyes and ears witnessing moonies and exposed tits that nearly always want to make an appearance at the last minute which is most definitely an age thing because this NEVER happened before I was 35.

So.. the letting loose.. There was a fancy spiced orange gin, vodka, 3 types of trendy IPA beer, music, singing, dance routines from all the classic musicals, silliness, 3 outfit changes due to the aforementioned silliness involving the lazy spa and a fully clothed Husband (3 times- what’s wrong with him?) But it was good to let off steam.

The next morning and the 5 days that followed had me feeling slow and confused. Confused in general but also confused about if I had actually been hit by a large vehicle on the night of the letting loose or during the night while I slept in bed. Maybe I hadn’t been involved in a car accident at all and I’d done 6 million squats and burpees instead and just not remembered? Both were front runners in the explanation as to why my body felt the way it did. Maybe it was because I couldn’t handle a good drink anymore and I should retire from the game, biting the bullet and hanging up my shot glasses? In recent years this is always the general consensus every time I have a few drinks and feel like a 90 year old woman for a full week afterwards. That is until the next time when I’m once again persuaded by Husband or my friends that are full of crazy that I need to blow the cobwebs off again. Then, we are back to square one where the vodka flows, the music plays, the dance routines commence and my tits that have become newly wild and free since my 35th birthday strain against my vest.