When it comes to TV, I’m a sucker for anything that involves an “urban family”.
Show me a tight-knit group of attractive adults undertaking wacky hijinks and wittily discussing their love lives, and I’ll gladly buy the box set.
My favourites include the couples from Couplings, the community of Community and the friends from Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place.
These pop culture examples reminds me off my own urban family and our transition from sophisticated singletons who ate out every Saturday morning to what Helen Fielding called “smug marrieds” with a mortgage and a comprehensive knowledge of the Dulux colour chart.
Fortunately, my faux-siblings and I were all emotionally stable so our social energies had to find an outlet other than holding each others’ hands when it had been three days and “he still hasn’t called”.
Instead we undertook group projects together and I don’t mean frivolous things like a book club or weekends at the beach but rather massive, life changing events.
It all started when the only couple in the group, the designated urban mother and father, bought a house.
We were all very impressed they could put up posters where ever they wanted but I thought that would be the end of it. A place where we could have a party without having to worry about rent inspections and nothing more.
But one Saturday morning I noticed two of my friends were looking at the real estate section. Before I knew it, they were using the term “open house” and not referring to a party.
It was like primary school again, when someone turns up with a new pair of shoes and you spend the rest of the rest of the week pleading with your parents to buy you some as well.
This time the role of mum and dad were played by the banks and instead of wanting a pair of Nike Drivebys, what we all desperately wanted RIGHT NOW was a two-bedroom, one- bathroom with a feature wall and loads of potential.
Fortunately, the banks had their financial senses addled by the mining boom and as far as they were concerned, it was houses for all. Don’t have the money? That’s fine, we’ll put it on China’s tab.
The next trend to sweep our social circle was engagements. Four Weddings and a Funeral must have been on television because suddenly we were partnering up and tying the knot at a furious rate.
There were weddings in churches, wedding in school chapels, weddings at hotels and at amphitheatres.
I went from wearing a jacket and tie once a year at the races to owning a suit and nearly wearing it out within a nine month period.
The combination of regularly eating out and decreasing metabolism meant our next craze was a vague desire to get fit. We were afforded slightly more individuality in this particular aspiration. Some of us jogged while others played hockey or went to the gym. Others took it very seriously indeed and ran half marathons. Fortunately none of us added to our already dangerously overcrowded cafes by taking up cycling.
The unifying factor of these exertions was our conspicuously middle class habit of blogging, tweeting and facebooking every step of our exercise regime. If there wasn’t an app for it, we probably would have all ended up morbidly obese.
So what group project will our ensemble cast latch on to next? We’ve a roof over our heads, someone to spend Sunday morning with and a sensible BMI. What’s this? An invitation from one of my friends with a picture of a stork? Ah yes, of course . .