Dear friend, Three Reasons Why I Don’t Want to Come to Your House

It seemed a friendship was on the cards for these two mums – until one of them asked the other over!

Confused? Don’t be. Here’s why I don’t want you to come to my place…

We were taking our first tentative steps into friendship, you and I. A shy wave and smile at the school gate. Simultaneous Facebook friend requests. A shared eye-roll of pained parental solidarity during the 9-minute recorder solo at the school concert. It was all going so swimmingly well…until you extended your olive branch a little too far over my side of the friendship fence…

Truth be told of that olive branch? I hastily lopped it off. Your spontaneous, smile-laden ‘you should come to my place’ sent me scrambling for excuses.

  • Feigning smallpox.
  • Applying for rental properties in Antarctica.
  • Confused by the sudden frosty reception?

Don’t be. Here’s why I don’t want to come to your place.

1. I’m going to have to cook something

I’ve brushed up on the rules of inter-parental fraternisation. Rule number 1 is a doozy: Always bring a plate. Preferably a delicious and decadent home baked delicacy. And therein lies my dilemma.

I’m the proud owner of a nocturnal, bed-hopping toddler. I’m too sleep-deprived to be trusted with anything hot, pointy or hazardous right now. If I nearly took out my own eye doing up a blunt bra this morning, imagine the damage I could do with a food processor, lemon, and a spatula. Who knows what could end up in the dish when the pantry’s bare, save for a secret stash of jelly babies, Costco bulk-buy baked beans and a misplaced breast pad yearning for its mate. That said, given all the beans on toast we’ve been eating of late, you might not want what I’ve been cooking.

2. You’re not ready for my kids

It’s not your fault that I’m judging the book by the cover. You’re immaculately dressed. Not a hair out of place. It makes sense that your home’s like that too: a pristine place of peace and relaxation. You probably have uber-cool music playing, exquisitely scented candles and embossed toilet paper.

The last thing you want is my kids stampeding wildly through your sanctuary and leaving smears of goodness-knows-what on your Whatnot. Believe me, I’m trying to spare you from my own hellish reality of plastic tablecloths, baby wipe clean-ups and a can of Glen 20 in every room. Believe me, when I say no, I’m actually doing you a favour and saving you the cost of fumigation. You’ll thank me for it later.

3. Your place isn’t sufficiently child-proofed

Let’s face it. Unless I can only gain access to your cleaning cupboard by dressing like a ninja and abseiling through a network of crisscrossed laser beams then Houston, we have a problem. I’m simply not going to be able to relax at your place without jumping up every five seconds to call the roll and count fingers.

I’m going to be in a heightened state of hyper vigilance, trying to ensure my kids aren’t teaching your kids how to make explosive devices from your cleaning products. Sad to say it, but If your place isn’t a padded, padlocked penitentiary then I’m going to have to poo-poo your invitation to sip tea and make polite conversation. You’ve got to understand that I’m a woman on the edge.

In the meantime, let’s stick to takeaway coffees and a smuggled hip flask of wine while the kids run amok in the local playground. Bottoms up!

Psssst. If home playdates are on you radar, make sure to read our previous article about where to go to find a whole bunch of mum friends

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KIM DAVIES is a forty-something latecomer to parenthood who’s haphazardly wrangling a husband, two daughters and career as a criminal lawyer. When she’s not fighting the good fight against injustice she’s picking up dirty undies and toenail clippings from the bathroom floor and spending her ‘me time’ putting pen to paper in the dead of night.

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