Pasta with a side order of Irrationality

I work in what I believe is the greatest profession there is. Hospitality. Which invariably involves dining out or at least drinking out several times a week. But. Since being preggas and not being able to drink, I’ve not really been out.

Not only have I not been out, I’ve let this lack of social life gnaw away at me. To the point where I found myself silently, ferociously resenting my husband for going out, or having a few glasses of wine with friends at home. Until it bubbled over last week into a massive unreasonable, totally irrational pregnant rant to anyone (except my husband obvs) who would listen. So, I’ve basically just been this loathsome, introverted moody bitch at home recently – I’ve known exactly what was wrong and why, but apparently saw no reason to tell my husband.

The worst part… I don’t even want a sodding drink. I currently have zero taste for most wine. So I’ve been silently loathing my husband, poor bloke, for doing something totally normal that I can’t currently do, but don’t actually even want to do.

Hormones suck. I mean it’s utterly ridiculous. Finding yourself crying in the bogs at work because you have no social life, but in reality, are too tired to even dream of going for a drink anyway. Bonkers.

But last week I did it. I dragged my sorry self-centred arse out for dinner with a friend. And didn’t draw breath the entire evening. My poor friend, just sat there while I rabbited on about anything, everything and nothing. All with a massive smug smile on my face because I was defying what I’d talked myself into believing was what you are supposed to do when preggas which is to stay home, go all Stepford Wife and nest.

If there was anything that could cure my introverted loathing of my self-inflicted lack of social life it was going to be a tiny, truffle scented Italian restaurant. And the new Lina’s Stores place on Greek St is utter perfection. So noisy you have to yell across the table and so cramped that it’s like a game of Tetras to get to the loos. But with food so perfect each mouthful has you doing that eyes closed, dreamy faced thing. Oh, and I had a glass of wine. It wasn’t very nice, pregnancy’s fault not theirs. Have the gnudi which are green lumps heavenliness that I could have eaten about 3 plates of.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to dreaming about wine that I don’t want.

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