On Saturday I woke up with big boobs. Yeah, let’s say it.
I had notime to thank God for the boobies before the sun started shining through the windows and I got excited like a kid on Christmas morning: sun! In London! On a Saturday! And I have big boobs! Let’s go out.
Half an hour later we were laying on the green grass of Regents Park – luckily you don’t have to carefully look for broken glasses, dog shits and dead pythons like you have to do in Italian parks. The temperature was warm but not hot enough to show some cleavage, I just took some selfies you’ll never see ahaha.
We stayed there a couple of hours (I have some pictures for you!) while Viola annoyed the ducks and I annoyed people while taking pictures. ‘Could you move a bit forward please? Your shadow is on the third daffodil counting from left.’ – ‘Excuse me??’ – ‘Your head. Its shadow is on the third daffodil…’ – ‘There’s plenty of other daffodils.’ – ‘I. NEED. THAT ONE.’ – ‘ jakshxdijyerghCRAZY.’
At some point we headed to the playground, where we met some friends with kids. They asked: why don’t you come with us for dinner? We’re going to eat pizza. I was optimistic because a few days ago I had a great time in pizzeria with my friend TheQueenFather and his son, so I said yes. ‘Other friends with kids are coming, too’ – ‘Well, ok’ I said, fighting hard my usual ‘other people that you don’t know are coming’ mood:
Damn if I had forgotten the SACRED RULE: ‘no kids out for dinner’ and by kids I don’t mean your kids alone, I mean your kids + their friends, which equals an explosive mix of tiredness and over excitement. Kids with friends are like high on drugs. Totally galvanized.
So we sit at this Portobello pizzeria (I didn’t like it) and it’s a party of 6 adults and 6 childrens, which borderlines my second SACRED RULE which is ‘never be outnumbered by kids’. Half an hour later the room has become a bunker where all you can hear is kids talking and screaming. They don’t always scream, still they have a very complicated relationship with decibels. This little boy first wanted nothing, nothing I SAID NOOOTHING, then he wanted pizza pizza PIZZAAA, then again he wanted nothing NOTHING NOOOTHING and then icecream ICECREAM ICECREAM and he wanted it now NOW NOOOOW.
Other two kids were still hungry and their mom was so worried they starved that she ordered other pizzas, so there was a mess of coming pizzas, finished pizzas, burned pizzas, wrong ordered pizzas, too much dough pizzas, I HATE MY PIZZA etc.
My girl and her friend looked like teenagers, looking at the mirror on the wall, whispering something then suddenly bursting into an uncontrolled laughter (file under: YOU SCARE ME).
Then the kids started doing what’s the main reason why the SACRED RULE do exist: they started running around, bothering the other people who were dining. We stopped them on time, still I felt so bad for the other people.
I CAN FEEL YOUR PAIN – I wanted to tell them. I know how it feels like to have your dinner ruined by screaming kids, especially if you payed a nanny to leave yours at home. And I know how it feels to be single and happy and be annoyed by those crazy people who want to bring children out for dinner. And yes, I am a mom and still hate noisy kids when I am in a restaurant, or on a plane, or… well, I’d say anytime.
I’m pretty sure the waitress will be needing some therapy after our dinner. Maybe I’m going to need it too.
Moral of the story: that’s how to waste a big-boobs day.