This week’s tale of calamity from the Page household concerns food and underwear. Or more particularly, a lack of the same, and a rare night out for my beloved and I.

Let me explain.

For
the last couple of weeks, we have hosted the Boomerang Child, her offspring (our granddaughter) and her dog while renovations are under way at their own house.

They have, quite frankly, eaten us out of house and home.

This is because the Boomerang Child is expecting another baby and is permanently hungry; baby Poppy is enjoying a growth spurt and devouring anything she can; and their little dog is trying to pretend he’s a Great Dane with an appetite to match.

As a result, I have spent a significant amount of time and a chunk of our life savings keeping the pantry stocked.

Now, I might pretend to be all grumpy and walk around with a calculator tut-tutting at the cost of groceries etc., but you know and I know that’s what parents do, isn’t it?

Besides, I have told her she can pay us back when we are old and incapable. I have also warned her I fully expect to have very expensive tastes when it comes to my daily dietary requirements. Caviar anyone? Ahem.

Anyway. After the delays which anyone who has gone through a renovation knows are just about mandatory these days, the expectant mother, baby and dog finally headed home last Friday lunchtime, leaving Mrs P and I spread out exhausted on the couch in one of those “what just happened?” moments.

Eventually, we managed to muster enough strength to make a cuppa. This infusion of caffeine led to a query about what we’d have for tea and that, in turn, led to a check of the pantry and the freezer.

Both were basically bare, apart from a vegan chocolate ice cream trumpet. I was keen, but Mrs P said I was a growing boy and needed to have something proper, with vegetables.

So that’s how, last Friday, Mrs P and I found ourselves gearing up for a bit of a night out.

But this would not be your average end-of-week escapade with a drink, a bit of a boogie and a quick pash in the car outside the burger bar just to show we’ve still got it. No, sir. This would be very different.

For starters, we were heading to a couple of supermarkets rather than nightclubs.

At least, that was the plan. We nearly didn’t make it.

And the reason? I had nothing to wear. Or rather, no underwear to wear.

Essentially, what had happened is that our washing machine had been running pretty much non-stop with 18-month-old baby and mum-to-be clothes every day for the last two weeks.

Mrs P had occasionally been able to throw some of her stuff in, but unfortunately my unmentionables had been put aside in a heap and then basically overlooked when it came to actually being put in the washing machine.

On the day of their departure I’d been caught out in a shower, and so the last pair to fly the flag for the male of the species in our humble abode was now soaking wet, all of which led to me uttering the immortal line “I haven’t got a thing to wear” when Mrs P asked me if I was ready (sound familiar?).

Now, I’m not averse to “going commando”, if I can put it that way. In fact, it seemed the most obvious way forward – but once I saw the shopping list, I changed my mind.

It seemed we would be spending some time hovering around the frozen food section. No-brainer, as far as I was concerned. I mean, commandos don’t go out in the cold if there’s a risk of frostbite to your extremities, do they? We would need to delay our departure.

So, while we waited, Mrs P grabbed my pile of unwashed ungers and chucked them through for a quick cycle. No sooner after the machine informed me they were cooked did I grab the first pair I could get my hands on and stand in front of the heat pump with it on full bore trying to get them dry.

And please, dear reader, don’t try and pretend you’ve never done that. I know you have. Everybody does.

The job done, the item in question was placed in the correct position and Mrs P and I headed for the bright lights of town.

It would be fair to say replenishing our pantry and freezer was not cheap. I may need to sell a kidney to pay for it. But at least we got a chance to spend some rare time together, and, as ever, we had a good laugh.

There may have even been a pash in the car outside. I couldn’t possibly say.

What I can reveal is that the Boomerang Child’s renovations enter a new phase soon and she, the baby and the dog will be returning for another week.

Hopefully we’ll still have plenty of food left in the pantry and freezer by then.

And with a bit of luck, we’ll be up to date with all the important washing, too.