En route to the parental asylum

Imagine having kids these days. You are either broke or insane. Or very likely both.

If your little one is pre-secondary age, you will have to endure kids’ parties. Back in the olden days, there was a sort of rule. Number of years equals party people. You turn 5, there will be a party for five. Forget that. Nowadays, the whole class is invited. Even if you think this is crazy, you will be guilt-tripped into it. Here is an inconvenient fact, that’s 30 parties per year. 30 Saturdays straight in the bin.

Not only do you have to get your kiddo to the party. No. More often than not you are expected to show face and smile along this charade, too. How awful. The epicentre of suicidal thoughts. What’s even worse, sometimes, there is no alcohol at those parties in the Metropolis. Some people on Fantasy Island are convinced that drinking in front of small people will turn the cutie pies into deviant alcoholics. This reminds me of a holiday in Malaga where the playground had a bar for the parents. Thank you. Similar arrangements exist in some German towns. That’s what I call family friendly.

Gone are the days of subcontracted weekend childcare, when you would drop your small person at a party and zoom home for some uninterrupted extra-curricular activities and then zoom back just in time for the party parents to not call social services for forgetting to pick up your child.

Imagine having two or more kids. Game over. You are a kids’ party captive. The asylum is calling.

The pain continues in later years. In some places Year 6 kids have prom. Why? When did primary schools jump onto the prom bandwagon? What exactly is being celebrated? I have no idea. The worst is yet to come. Once your teenager hits year 11, discussions about prom and your financial contributions will start. I was delighted when my little Prima Donna refused to attend her prom after one friend kept asking about her pre-party, prom and after-party outfits. Add hair and make-up and in some areas a chauffeur driven car and you have to consider remortgaging your home in order to sponsor this self-indulgent event. What if you have failed your GCSEs? What would you be celebrating?

In my eyes this is utterly ridiculous. Where are the days when you had a secret house party with your mates whilst your parents were away for the weekend. You ended up drinking most of their alcohol for which they did not give you a three hour lecture on the evils of drinking. Or, if you were more paranoid, you would top up the bottles with water in the illusion that your parents would not notice. In the morning you would have a last minute Blitz clean. When your parents walked in, you would sit at your desk looking studious with your books upside down. Neither you nor your parents would comment on this deception because let’s face it, everyone had a great time. Them and you. Nobody died and nobody got pregnant. Those were the days. Hm, let me overthink this.







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Lifestyle blogger sarcastically commenting on observations in the Metropolis. Overthinking and introverted.

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