It's that time of year again. Youngest daughter's Year 12 ball. So, always the great organiser (hmm wonder where she gets that from?) she leaves it till the last possible moment before realising she needs A Frock.
When I say last moment, I mean it. Like, this weekend and the ball is tomorrow. Cue hysterical laughter.
So darling husband said we will go into the city and find A Frock. Son kicked up a stink as (a) he hates shopping, and (b) he really hates girlie shopping. Whatever. We didn't exactly give him a choice here.
After we spent at least an hour wandering around seriously lost and seriously pissed off at not finding any posh frocks, darling husband decides to cut to the chase, and Asks at the information kiosk. Wow. How cool to have a man with a plan!
We find the chic boutiques and flutter over the fairy frocks. And then we see the prices and have heart attacks instead. Finally, darling daughter tries on yet another gown. It's slinky, shimmery and reminds me of a mermaid princess (I then had to reassure her I was paying her a compliment and not being snarky!)
By the time we got home daughter was beaming, son was scowling, our feet were throbbing and our credit card was red hot. Oops.