We don't get out much. We tend to have people over to our house, and after today's field trip, I now understand why. A guy that Matt did his residency with is now practicing medicine in our town. We went to his wedding in San Diego- and they are a really fun couple. They recently bought a house with a pool, and invited my brood over for some splashing and barbecue.
It's important to know that this couple does not have kids. As we pulled up to their house, and saw their immaculately landscaped front yard and Leave It To Beaver street- Matt and I began to feel a little self conscious about all of the stuff we had to bring. (overflowing diaper bag with change of clothes for everyone, extra sunscreen, four beach towels, a bottle of wine, housewarming plant, a sippy cup, snack and DVD for later etc. etc. etc.) Matt fiercely whispers to me "Leave the floatie in the car. I'll come back for it later- but let's not bring that in with us now."
The floatie was the least of our worries. Upon entering, my Annie proceeds to inspect their whole house (uninvited, mind you) and announce to everyone that she was going to go poop in their bathroom. While she did her business, the hosts started serving drinks-- orange margaritas. Unbeknownst to me, they put 3 SHOTS OF TEQUILA in my husband's drink. This is where the party takes a nasty turn. We all trotted outside for some splashing time in the pool, and my husband, after his second drink, decided to take "a little nap" on the patio floor. It was 106 today folks, so fearing sunstroke, I convinced him to ahem, "nap" inside- and he laid down on their air conditioned, mudroom brick floor- next to their washing machine. FOR THREE HOURS.
What did we do in these three hours? The kids ate dinner, made mud pies in their rose garden, and stood diligently while I cleaned them off with the garden hose. We finally got Matt to join the land of the living, and were drinking coffee- when we noticed our hosts snickering to themselves. We couldn't figure out what was funny- so finally one of them pointed out to us that our older daughter was no longer wearing any pants. Or underwear. And she was sitting on their living room couch, with the beautiful white silk drapes and chic shag rug. They thought that was funny, but what struck them as even funnier was that Matt and I didn't even notice. (She's naked most of the time at home, so it's pretty much second nature by now).
Somehow, I don't think we'll be invited back anytime soon.