Are we there yet? Part II

It was 3.40am and the front door slammed shut.  There were some pretty heavy weeing sounds coming from the bathroom.  I got up to see if the boys were okay.

In my best three o’clock in the morning dazed look, my eyes caught the thick browned muscular thigh of a very naked man urinating in the toilet.  What on earth?

I was expecting to see one of my small sons, not this (quite attractive) naked, well-proportioned and very intoxicated man holding onto the wall in front of him, urinating in the middle of the night.

In complete disbelief at the vision before me I asked him what he was doing in my bathroom.  He stopped mid-flow, looked around and noticed he was in the wrong apartment.

In his best sobering-up English accent, he said Oh shit, I’m so bloody sorry, I’m, umm, in the wrong-¦ jeez, place and ran out holding his bits tightly between his legs as I opened the door for him.

I was in shock, not so much about the door being unlocked, but more because I had a naked and potentially willing man in my grasp, who I didn’t have to pay hundreds of dollars to get drunk to drag home and I couldn’t do a thing because I was surrounded by women and children.

Let’s just say, Daddy was extremely toey and frustrated the next morning.

I spent the next afternoon on Brighton Beach with the boys sans the womenfolk and it was the highlight of the trip.  When I lived in Brighton, it was to this beach, next to the colourful beach boxes, that I used to bring the then little baby men and ponder life as I was coming out.

So many worlds away now, it feels.  So much has changed.  Having lunch with my old friends with my family felt as good as the sun on my back from the rays setting off Elwood beach where the boys were playing in the sand with their grandmother gently watching over them.

The trip home was uneventful, except I couldn’t get the iPod from my eldest whose eyes were glued to the Freemasons’ Rain Down Love video clip.

He now can sing the entire song and mimic the sailors-¦ just like his daddy.