Friday nights just aren’t the same when you are pregnant. Getting dressed up is no longer fun. If I pull my hair back, my face looks fat. If I leave it down, my face looks fat. Clothes that fit last week are a bit too tight this week. And you can kiss the high heels goodbye. I always try them. They take me all the way to the front door before they are off.
Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade being pregnant for anything. Nor would I trade being married to be single again. Well, unless it was for one night only and I could get all dolled up and go out and hit on my hot husband (before he was my hot husband) all night. Give him the eyes across the room until one of us has the nerve to come greet the other. Oh the game playing. Fun.
But let’s just say for one moment, I wasn’t pregnant and the Skipper and I had one night to go out on the town and eat and drink the night away. Where would we go and what would we do? Seeing that this is Blairadise and my day dream then we would…
Get all dressed up to the nines. Me, wearing this fabulous dress from Roberto Cavalli:
Just kidding, I couldn’t even rock this dress in my day dream. But it’s fabulous, no? You would find me in something more like this, from Anthro:
With these amazing sandals:
And of course, I would never leave home without my Tory Burch clutch:
The Skipper would be looking as handsome as always wearing this get up from Banana Republic:
I am proud to say he is WAY hotter then the model they chose to sport this outfit. Maybe I should let them know…
We would then hop into MY Rover and be on our way…
I thought about this for a while. Sometimes I am quite torn between my love for the Southern US of A and good ole sunny SA. So where would I want to go on a Friday night with the love of my life? I think I’d stay right here in SA and force the Skipper to take me to Joburg. The city of dreams. Well, the city of this day dream. And in wanting to add a little tiny bit of reality to this scenario, I chose Joburg…
We’d meet up with a few friends for dinner in Sandton or Rosebank? Maybe Melrose Arch? Hell, let’s go all out and eat at The Grillhouse, Sandton. During the World Cup you could have spotted Paris Hilton and Leonardo DiCaprio grubbing together with some friend. I would have freaked out. Tonight, lets say we spot Brad and Angie and give them a little wave. It is a night without kiddies, yall.
The waiter is coming back and forth to our table with bottles of Springfield Wild Yeast Chardonnay
and platters of fresh oysters and Springbok carpaccio. Chicken livers for dear Skippy-poo. Then it’s onto fillets cooked medium-rare to perfection and bottles of Luddite Shiraz
. We would finish the evening off with Malva pudding and nice wake me up espressos.
Then the Skipper and I will hop back into the Rover and head home to Pretoria. Where we will crawl into bed and sleep the entire night without interruptions or countless pillows stuffed between legs, behind backs, squeezed between arms, shoved anywhere that may, just may, make sleeping possible.
Oh what a night!