Weekend at Wogettes
Our daughter is a Wogette. Born in the South Pacific but Australian in nationality, she often forgets she is half European. She looks like an Aussie (whatever that is), loves her sport, works very hard and is quintessentially an over achiever. So when does her inner Euro come out? When she parties.
A few vino’s and boom.
Now Wogette will tell you that I am loud. OK…I admit it. I am. I am loud when I ask ‘did you have a good weekend’, ‘what’s for dinner’ or ‘Wannabeawog, do you want toast?’. I laugh loud…cry loud and well…you get the picture. Outer-Wogette is such a quiet, petite professional until her inner italian is unleased. In the right mood, the laughter burbles and she’s off. She lights up the room. As my best mate (PommyPrincess) says ‘When Wogette enters a room, you know the party has started.’
So our weekend at her place was anything but restful. We cooked, drank lots of wine, told stories, shopped and planned our big Italian adventure for later this year. We are going to meet in Milan and we have lots planned. Lots and lots. And lots.
I am hoping to remember said plans all once my wine headache is done and dusted.