You're a parent. You go out for a night on the town. Then this happens, every single time.

It’s Saturday night. I am out. I am in a cool venue in Melbourne. I’m standing near the bar. My head gently nodding to the beat of the music. I feel good. I’m looking good. There’s a few cute girls at the bar checking me out. I glance over to my wife standing chatting to friends. I look back at the girls, they are whispering and pointing to me. I don’t want to be rude so I give a wee smile. A half smile. I’m playing it cool.

I take a sip of my double Glenfiddich on ice and get back to my head nodding. I’ve still got it.

Or so I think.

I would get back to the conversation I was having but it’s so loud I can’t hear anything. I’ve been nursing this whisky so long it’s getting warm. The thought of having to queue up again for another 20 minutes at the bar is not appealing. Whose round is it anyway?

I slowly turn my head around, blue steel style and look back at the girls at the bar. They are no longer looking at me.

I realise my feet hurt. My back hurts. The music is too loud. I’m starting to get a headache. It’s 11.30. I stifle a yawn.

What has happened to me? I’m not that person. I’m not too old for this. I am not the dinner and a movie person (although that does sound quite appealing). No. I can’t have that. I persevere.

What is it with the relentless noise? Does it have to be so loud? I can’t join in a conversation without sticking my ear near someone’s mouth. The irregular bumping into me as people try to get past is doing my head in. My attempt to appear cool, hip and like I belong in this bar full of 20 year olds is starting to take its toll. My ego fully charged at the start of the night is taking a hit. I’m losing the will.

But hang on. I’m back. The two girls I spotted earlier are looking at me again. It’s definite eye-to-eye contact. She is checking me out…… Hold on she is coming over. I panic a little. I look over at my wife. She is deep in conversation. What have I done. Play it cool son I tell myself, play it cool. I haven’t done anything. It’s my sheer animal magnetism. Why am I surprised?

She’s getting closer. She looks good. She must be in her 20’s. Okay, here we go.

“Hello,” I say sipping on my warm whisky like James Bond.

“sgjjk you asdkklwe,” she says

“Pardon?,” I say. “I couldn’t hear that.” (Did she just tell me she wants me?)

“You jklleks and lalwkfl; belklas ajks”

I’m starting to get a bit frustrated now. It’s hard to play it cool when you have no idea what is being said.

So I smile and half laugh. “Tell me that again” I shout over the music. My wife by this stage has clocked me speaking to a hot girl in a bar. I can feel her eyes in my back.

“You ….

look ……

just…..

like…..

my ……

dad “

I cough up some of my whisky as I smile and thank her. I turn and walk towards my wife.

Do I tell her?

No chance. I tell her how lucky she is that this hot girl came over to chat me up.

Perhaps this is why nights out are few and far between. 

Rob Harris is a father of two young boys. With only 17 months separating Max from Zak, Rob is equally inspired by the love and admiration they have for each other and their seemingly endless appetite for beating the crap out of each other. Rob writes a blog called Dads Not Mums which is an outlet, an avenue of escape and a way for Rob to connect with others who are bringing up kids, living life and having fun. You can find him on Facebook here.

Does this story feel familiar? How do your nights out go these days?