The Last School Ball

This is the last of our offspring at his Year 12 school ball, and look at the gorgeous girl he took! How did he get this vision of loveliness to be his partner? Is she aware that this handsome dude does not usually dress like this? Would she have accepted his invite if she had known that at home on the farm he normally wears daggy grey ruggers, flanelette shirts, odd socks, work boots and a hair style that looks as if he has been dragged through a bush backwards? Is she aware that his all time heroes are Bart and Homer Simpson and his idea of a good night out is to take the dog in his ute shooting rabbits followed by a Bad Boys movie and a Beryl's Burger with the lot?

The one good thing about this blog is that he is highly unlikely to ever read it. Mothers are an embarrassment, so he is hardly likely to visit my website, and even more unlikely to be my friend on facebook, so I feel I have carte blanche to write whatever tickles my fancy. Sorry mate, but you kids have always supplied me with such wonderful material.

He took this lovely lady to the 'befores' and then piled her onto 'the party bus' that the boys had hired to take them all to the ball. My lot have tried all the options. Daughter number one went to the ball in a London taxi cab via King's Park for a photo shoot. Daughter number two hired a limo with her crew of party goers and went via some coastal venue for a photo shoot, whilst the boy opted for 'the party bus'. The cheapest option. If there was a photo shoot of any description on the way to his ball it is highly unlikely that I will ever see any of the photos. He's just not interested in that sort of thing. He doesn't even own a camera. The girls are on their third each I think.......

Daughter number one wore to her school ball a Ruth Tarvydas ball gown, had her hair, makeup and nails done and had new shoes and jewels. Daughter number two had her dress made by a seamstress, had her hair, makeup and nails done as well as a fake tan, new shoes and ear rings to die for. The boy hired a dinner suit through the school, borrowed his mate's shoes and had a fifteen dollar hair cut the week before. The cheapest option. The girls drank Veuve Clicquot and Moet. The boy drank beer. The cheapest option. We should have had three boys.......

All three went to the dreaded 'afters' and partied through into the wee small hours. Some ended up at home for an hour's kip before breakfast at some beach venue; some ended up with ball gown and shoes stuffed in a rucksack, but clad in 'afters' garb, hoarse from wild singing and dancing, at home at 5am; and some ended up in a sand bunker on hole number four of the local golf Course at 6am. Mercifully none of them disgraced themselves ( to my knowledge) and lived to tell the tale of their first All Nighter. Remember those? I'm talking Party All Nighters here, folks, not Screaming Baby All Nighters....

Great expectations, great excitement and great fun for the kids. Great stress, great expense and great pride for the parents. They all looked so grown up!

Just the ATAR score to go now, boy.......You've had your fun, so head down and go for it.