Today I’m taking a group of women shopping in Brisbane. We’re heading down to Westfield Chermside in a limo. There will be champagne-fueled styling on the way down and then we’ll be power shopping for five hours. Have I mentioned lately how much I love my job?
Now, while I’ll be helping other people spend their money, my besties from uni will be arriving by bus, plane and car from around Australia for a day and evening of reminiscing and tea drinking. JUST KIDDING. About the tea part.
I’ve known these girls since way, way back in the mid-80s when we arrived at Women’s College (a residential college at the University of Queensland) from all over Queensland.
We were the country chicks all at sea in the big smoke and easily identifiable as such by our perms, flannelette shirts and our Corollas or Datsuns (as opposed to the straight bobs, silver fob chains and Volvos or Mercedes of the ex-boarding school chicks).
A residential college is a little bit like boarding school with cheap alcohol (goon and ginger ale cocktail, anyone?) thrown in for fun and games. By the end of our first year, a number of disturbingly similar characteristics and occurrences had been observed among our group.
1. We had gained on average 7kg (three smorgasbords a day and nightly midnight trips for hot chocolates and triple decker toasted sangas – not to mention the goon and ginger ales sessions – will do that).
2. We were growing out bad perms.
3. We had gone from straight-A high school students to almost failing. (Evenings were commonly spent in the hallways “festering”, aka doing anything but study and assignments)
4. We thought it was perfectly acceptable to wear Dunlop Volleys with ballgowns … and still expect to be considered attractive to the opposite sex.
5. We had all worn togas at least once. In public.
6. We looked young enough to get into the Ekka on a children’s ticket but once through the gates managed to get served beer at the Cattleman’s Bar.
7. We all owned at least one pair of shorts cleverly sewn by us using the college’s white sheets (stolen) and sewing machines (supplied).
8. We had successfully chosen subjects (well those of us “studying” Arts) with lecture times that didn’t clash with Days of Our Lives.
At the end of that first year, some of us moved out of college. Me, I moved back home as my parents had moved to Brisbane, said goodbye to those 10kg (I’ve never been average – particularly where weight is concerned) and hello to studying (meh). But on weekends I still managed to become a Women’s College “resident” (or John’s College … but that’s another story NOT to tell the children) sleeping over with the few from our tribe who stayed on.
Tonight will be one big NON-sleepover. We’re all mums now with grown-up jobs and responsibilities. For one night we’ll get to pretend we’re 18 again. Right now I’m so grateful for that. It could be a different story tomorrow morning.
*This post is part of Maxabella “I’m grateful for …” blog link-up. Click on the image below and check out what others are grateful for this week.