Even if, pre-children, you had a really active social life and danced on tables until the wee hours, after you give birth, the prospect of climbing onto heels to paint the town red is about as appealing as being slapped with a wet fish.
And, with small children around, it can take years to get your social life back on track.
Something I’ve promised myself I’ll do this year is to be more adventurous socially (and I don’t mean I want to start swinging). I plan to spend less time on the sofa in the evenings, so that my husband and children no longer have a better social life than me.
I honestly wouldn’t want my pilot to just sit in his hotel room when he’s on layovers, but then again, I don’t want him to have too good a time without me – especially as women can be predatory creatures.
We were stopped in our tracks the other day while walking out of our hotel by an attractive lady.
I say ‘we’, but it was DH she was talking to.
“Where do I know you from?” she asked him.
He didn’t instantly recognise her. They ran through some places – Tokyo, Paris, Hong Kong – but were still drawing a blank.
“I remember that we got on really well,” she said, flirtily.
“Just don’t tell my wife,” joked DH, putting his arm round me so she’d at least know I was standing right there (he never did work out who she was).
Her head turned towards me, our eyes met.
Hmm, I thought. I don’t like you.
“Do you live here?” (meaning London) she said, by way of a cursory acknowledgement.
“No,” I replied. “I live in Dubai, with my husband.’”
And then, the word ‘obviously‘ just slipped off my tongue.
Touché. Hands off! He’s mine!