When you try to be Carrie Bradshaw and fail epically.

I understand that I am a complete stereo type. Most of the time this image works out for me perfectly. Here I am claiming to be a new found ‘blogger’ hanging out in a Melbourne café in some semi smart-casual hipster outfit (appropriate for a Sunday of course, I’m not wearing makeup today let’s not get crazy) with an abundance of ideas. I decide to head to a DIFFERENT café to continue to push that ever so precious comfort zone and write, drink coffee and look important. As I enter however, I am confronted with a whole lot of people. At every table. Loud people at that. To top it off there are children everywhere. The wallpaper is an ugly enlarged photograph of a forest (really guys?) and there are red crushed velvet curtains for acoustic purposes apparently. I have been here before so it’s no surprise that the décor is offensive. I also know a really sexy barista works here but he doesn’t seem to be in today. Doing well so far.

I peer outside to the alfresco dining area and notice they have heaters. Perfect! So I sit under a broken one because one side of the veranda space is set for a party of about 16 for lunch. The other side is taken up by a family of 5. A child from this family proceeds to crawl up and down the bench seat I am trying to sit still on, while I attempt to get my brain around what the hell I am going to write about today while being smothered by the countless distractions that surround me.

I order my coffee and daydream about the café I usually go to down the road, with tasteful furniture and pretty devils ivy sprawled across the exposed brick wall. I think to myself, ‘I might go there afterwards to recover from this whole experience.’ But let’s try and stay positive for the time being. The sun is out today and it glorious. The birds are singing. Until one of them flies through the café blinds and starts chirping uncontrollably on the table next to me. The owner comes out in a fit of rage and slams (no exaggeration, like scared the shit out of me) this giant owl on the table to scare it off. Not only are my ear drums ringing but I feel kind of intimidated by this monstrosity of a fake bird and its piercing eyes glaring at me from the opposite table.

Everything’s ok though. Although my finger tips are blue by this point from the icy air, and the waitress has literally forgotten that I am sitting here between this freaky-arse owl and broken heater, the sun is still out and I have every hope in the world that’s this table of 16 will be some hot dudes 30th and because I am owed some joy on this final day of my weekend, I assume 15 of his equally hot and single friends will join him. But no. It’s a baby shower.

Fuck. My. Life.

So it seems that Kristy is having a boy. (Oh yes, we are on first name basis, not because we had a chat but because they are talking SO FREAKING LOUDLY I CAN’T HEAR ANYTHING ELSE.) As she pours giant blue peanut M&Ms into a jar, the noise is so loud it feels like a small pin ball game inside my head has just commenced. Kristy’s ‘bestie’ walks around the table setting things up, every 3 minutes squealing ‘Yaaaaay!!!’ and clapping her hands vigorously. Dear friends, if I ever have a baby, shoot me and yourselves before we all become this annoying.

As more (blonde) woman arrive in shoes highly inappropriate for a Sunday (it seems they missed the ‘appropriate attire for an afternoon luncheon’ memo), I have the privilege of listening to them engage in painful small talk at a volume level that has officially raped all creative ability that I ever believed I had. The champagne cork pops and all I can think of is, ‘god how I wouldn’t mind downing some (all) of that right now.’ But you know what bitches? You’re gonna need it more than me. I’m fucking out of here.

I had some really interesting things to write about today. And I wish parts of this story were a slight exaggeration. But this was in actual fact how I spent my entire afternoon. No word of a lie. It seems I need a house with a study.