A dear friend of mine had his birthday
party this passed weekend. It was a ton of fun but paid for it for
days. We were out until 2am and I thought I was going to die. In my
delirium I had visions of my heart stopping from exhaustion, and then
having to get pure adrenaline shot into my chest like Uma Thurman in
Pulp Fiction. The worst part? I was the DD!!! There was no alcohol
in my system just a variety of fried goodness. I began mutter things
like, “Do they have to turn the music up so loud?” and “Man
every place is so crowded!” How is it that none of my peers noticed
these annoyances? And then it hit me; I am old. It wasn't that I
was sober (there were other non-drinkers there) but that the essence
of who I am is an elderly curmudgeon. There comes a time in every
woman's life when she realizes that staying home in her pjs at 8:00
at night is the best thing ever. It's just that for me this happened
about fifty years early. As our group was gallivanting down the
street birthday boy got himself a funnel cake. When it was offered
to me I respectfully declined. My reasons? I can't have that much
sugar and fat before bed, I'll never sleep. Plus I could already
feel the flames of heartburn licking my esophagus from my previously
mentioned fried food. By the time I made it home and in bed my
entire body ached, I didn't even bother to take my contacts out. The
next morning I texed my friend to see how he was doing. I
begrudgingly drank a cup of black coffee as he told me how wonderful
and energized he felt after such a great night. Oh youth you are but
fleeting!
