Age is everything the stereotypes say it will be.
I found myself last Saturday night at one am in a retro club dancing away to tunes that I recall being in the Top 10.
Around me, danced a generation of children – young adults who were light years closer to my children’s age than my own – who skipped around to music they considered ancient.
I tried to embrace the “life is for living”, and “don’t give a fuck attitude”.
But found instead, everytime I went to the loo I was happily forward projecting to a time where maybe I may have a youngster come in with my dinner and to wipe my arse, as opposed to sharing a dance floor with them. I found myself looking forward to aging rather than wanting to rewind back to nights when I would drink shots till dawn and watch the sunrise without an ounce of sleep in me.
It’s a pretty telling moment when you realise you are looking forward to being elderly rather than having to hit a nightclub again.
Jeez, don’t get me wrong. I love going out and socialising.
Until 11pm.
(9.30 on a week night)
Then the world can do one as I hit the reset button and get in my much needed 8 hours.
Got chatting to another OAP on the dance floor when I went out to the smoking area to get some fresh air.
(Yeah you read that right – the smell of Embassy Number One mixed with chicken balls, was more preferable than the odour of teenage sweat mixed with jagerbomb on the dance floor.)
Back to my OAP buddy.
Norma – she took a drag of her cigarette and drawled,
“I mean, I just want to walk to the pub at the end of the road, have a steak, a glass of wine and talk without thinking I need hearing aids..”
Hell yes to that Norma!
However, I think maybe I was born to be 40.
Because actually – I think I can count on one hand the amount of times I stayed out to sunrise in my youth. I was always the one who nipped to the loo for a nap when everyone else went to snort talcum powder.
I got home last night, after a simply belting weekend with my gorgeous friends.
I pulled on my cotton PJs like they were silk suspenders. I caressed my pillow like it was Christian Slater’s (from the Heathers era) stomach. I cuddled my tea like it was the saviour of life.
And I sank my 41 year old body into bed with a contended sigh.
Can’t wait to hit 50.
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