The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. For some reason, Girlfriend thought it would be a good idea for me to go out with some of the other dads and have a dads' night out. I don't know why. I don't like people for one thing. And even the phrase "dads' night out" makes me shudder. It makes me think of beer and endless discussions about football.

So I and five other dads go out for drinks.

It's 9 pm. I should be in bed now, I think.

"So what do you do, Paul?" asks one of the dads.

What do I do? I don't know. I guess he's talking about my job but his question sounds more existential than that. What do I do? I exist? Miserably?

"I make books and sell them on Amazon," I say. "They're exam practice books. Books for people taking exams."

He looks at me in confusion. It's an expression I'm familiar with. I see it every time I try to explain to people what my job is.

"You write books?" he asks.

"Well, kind of. They're books of practice questions. I put the questions in a book and put the book on Amazon."

His brow is furrowed like he's trying to understand a foreign language. I can see I'm losing him.

But I know what to say next: "It means I get to work from home!" I say, with a grin.

His confusion changes into relief. Finally, something he can understand: working from home.

"That sounds good," he says. Then the conversation changes and still no one knows what I do for a job.

After a while, I start shivering. We're sitting outside and I'm only wearing a t-shirt. All the other dads have coats on.

"Aren't you cold, Paul?" asks one of the dads.

"Let's just say my testicles have completely disappeared into my scrotum," I say. This gets a laugh from everyone. I'm still shivering.

After another half an hour of sitting outside, we get up and leave. It's now 11 pm.

"So do you think we'll get dinner at some point?" I ask hopefully while shivering.

"That was the dinner," says one of the dads.

"That was the dinner?" I say incredulously. "But that was just a few plates of tapas."

I make a mental note never to go out for dinner with these people again.

"I guess I can have a bar of chocolate or something when I get home," I say.

It seems like we're heading home for the night - yay! - but then we end up going into a bar - boo. I just sit there mainly in silence, nursing my glass of wine. The other dads are laughing and joking in the way men do when they're drunk. I don't say much, partly because I don't speak Catalan and partly because I have very few actual social skills.

Now we're going around the table and telling each other how long we've been together with our partners. It's like a self-help group.

"Ten years," says one dad.

"Twelve years," says another.

Finally, it's my turn.

"What about you, Paul?" asks one of the dads.

"Too long," I say, and down my glass of wine. Everyone laughs. I'm quite the comedian tonight. I should have a comedy skit on Saturday Night Live.

I finally get home at half midnight. I try not to wake Girlfriend up but I wake her up.

"How was the night?" she asks as I crawl into bed.

"Terrible," I say. "I never want to do that again."