My husband and I went out for a night out the other night. This is not as easy as it sounds when you live on an island and your ferry service discontinues at 11.30 p.m. and doesn’t resume until 5.30 a.m.
We need to plan ahead so that we can get to where we are going, have a good evening, and make it back on time before the last ferry. There are ways around this of course, and if we took an overnight bag with us, we could probably stay somewhere and not have to keep on watching the clock and calculate how long it would take to get from where we were before the last run. As I tend to like sleeping in my own bed as opposed to a less than comfortable option in a motel or a friends fold out bed, I’ve become the more practical one of the two of us, and the designated watcher of the clock as my husband tries to out-drink his friends in our allotted time frame.
Our night out started at approximately 2 o’clock in the afternoon, so we could spend a few hours with our friends and enjoy their company before we had to call it a night. Our hosts were well set up for the day and we had a steady supply of nibblies, various meat platters from their smoker, salads and the traditional desserts. It was BYO drinks, of course, and my husband stocked up on the way with a carton of beer. As I don’t drink, it was an easy choice of a few soft drinks to keep me going.
My husband’s friend is an Australian-born Hungarian man, as tough as they come, but a brilliant cook and a mean strummer of the Blues. My husband enjoys himself immensely on these occasions, and the longer he is there, the harder it is to budge him from a perch surrounded by some of the best guitar players in town. Once the spirits get passed around, the harps come out and its a free-for-all to see who can play the longest and the loudest.
Last night was no exception, and it was a running battle to get him on his feet and heading in the general direction of the car. I considered leaving him there and letting him find his way home for a moment. It was like trying to coax a child out of a lollie shop.
After much persuasion bordering on begging, then threatening, we only just made it to the last ferry. As we boarded, he discovered that he had left his wallet and his mobile phone behind at his friend’s place, and he wanted to go back.
As I still had my wallet and my mobile phone, I had no problem with making a beeline for my seat on the ferry. If he wanted to go back, he could jolly well walk.
Fortunately, he saw the logical side of it and decided that the bed at home was better than legging it in the dark for 20 or so miles to retrieve something that would still be there tomorrow.
And it always satisfies my warped sense of justice when ‘the day after the night before’ rolls around and he has to pay. Today he had to ask me for some money because he couldn’t find his wallet, and I got to tell him where it was.
I love him, bless his heart, but as long as my lilly white butt points to the ground, I will always win.