Girls Night Out

I was getting ready to go dancing. I don't go out often and I was looking forward to it. Ten of us were going, all girls, good friends.

Getting ready is almost as much fun as going out itself. I never realised this until I had the children, and had a decade of getting ready (on those rare occasions we went out) in the few minutes between settling the kids down and leaving the house. So now I have time again I relish the process. Shower, body scrub, body lotions and potions, all manner of concoctions for soft and silky hair. Toenails, fingernails, curlers, make up, perfume and choosing the right outfit.

Tonight I'd chosen cool but casual. Fresh cotton tunic over a white vest, jeans, and my red dancing shoes. Lipstick to match and we were all set, the girlfriends arriving any second for cocktails before a giggly stroll to town around ten.

I was in a great, great mood. I love music, dancing, fun. "You should come with us next time!" I said to him. "Jim will be there, and Andy, and the music is great. It would be fun to go in a big group".

He looked at me and frowned. "You don't get it, do you?"

It would appear not.

"I won't be going anywhere with you. Not now, not in the future. You look terrible. You look fat. You look ridiculous. I'm ashamed to be seen with you. Why do you think I don't take you along to anything?"

I stopped in my tracks. Looked in the mirror.

"You're exposing the children to a serious risk of being bullied at school. People will be talking about you. It's not nice for the girls".

I didn't go dancing. No amount of getting ready was going to make any difference.