I have today experienced the children's party entertainer. I am alive. Just.
Dressed as Snow White with a perma-tan to rival Jordan and a cleavage to match, Juicy Lucy worked the room with what can only be described as full control. In awe, I watched as she snapped her fingers, commanded a rowdy bunch of five year olds into an orderly circle promising to give each of them a balloon animal if they did as they were asked. Nicely done.
Almost immediately the cacophony of sound that had been hurting my head since we arrived at the village hall for Evangelia's birthday party, stopped in an instant as the children listened and obeyed. I remain unsure if it's the promise of gifts or the fact that she is dressed as a Disney character holds the power - if it's the dress I may invest as I rationalise this will reap dividends on both Grace and Matt the Husband, double whammy, money well spent. That said, my boobs aren't a patch on Juicy Lucy's so I may abstain.
In the meantime I am reflecting on how an hour of my life (which I will never get back) was spent watching the new generation of party games let rip on the unsuspecting ear drums that I took along with me. Whatever happened to good old Dead Lions or Pass the Parcel? I gather parents nowadays lean towards the party entertainer to avoid having to put a prize in each layer of pass the parcel, considerable expense if you're like Evangelia with what looks to be a full class of friends. I dread to think of developments come the time Grace reaches the dizzy heights of five years old. Will we play Pass the iPad, I wonder?
Instead Juicy Lucy has them playing Beans. Runner bean (run around the room), Jumping bean (jump up and down), French bean (ooh la la) etc etc. It seems like fun and I confess I'll try this on Grace if ever I am at a loose end. The kids loved it, made a whole heap of sound, burnt loads of energy and left me feeling the need to run into the hills in search of a quiet place. But I endured.
An hour after she waltzed in, Juicy Lucy with basket of goodies slung casually over her arm, dished out the booty to the kids for being well behaved and skipped off home with a bundle of cash tucked safely into her bra. I don't know whether it's magic or tragic. She's certainly the only thirty-something this side of Disney that can pull off Snow White in daylight without looking like she's off on the razzle. I decide praise where it's due.
Grace found the whole affair rather overwhelming. After clinging to my leg for most of the party games while the bigger kids did their thing, Grace eventually ventured out from behind said leg (sturdy oak by current standards), when the bigger kids scarpered to stuff their faces on the party food leaving the dance floor empty and strewn with unwanted balloons. Merrily kicking up a storm, I realise the beauty of simplicity. A few balloons, someone to play with, and a child is content.
Grace slept like a lamb all the way home in the car, utterly spent, happy.
We both survived the party entertainer.