So was it last night or the LAST night?
Final hugs and kisses for the kids and we are out the door, headed to a friend’s 40th birthday party. I’m feeling fabulous in my new top, even though I had to cut out the shoulder pads—I just can’t do them this time around!
I realize that the birthday card I had in my hand on the front porch never made it into the car. We’re not bringing a gift; we have to bring a card. We turn around, thinking it will be lying in our driveway. It’s not, so we drive on, only to find the card halfway down our block in the middle of the street crumbled up and adorned with tire tread across one side. Well at least it’s a guy’s birthday–he may not even notice!
We park then walk a couple blocks to the bar. On the way we spot the ginormous Girls Gone Wild truck emblazoned with provocative young breasts in lacy bras. Hubby asks me if I want him to take my photo in front of the truck. Downtown Austin may not be my scene anymore, but c’mon, I’m not that dorky.
The party is in full force and our friends are dancing, laughing and mostly keeping their drinks upright even as they bounce to the music. Woohoo!
Our lovely party hostess and I are gushing about the music, the lights, the energy!
“Why don’t we go out more??” she asks.
I know! Why don’t we?? I say. We SO should. Look at us—we are fun and fabulous!
Everyone spends the next two hours laughing and moving to 80s music (can you really call it dancing when the soundtrack is mostly AC/DC, Journey and the Scorpions?) Despite the fact that Wham, Prince and Michael Jackson never made an appearance, we all have a rollicking time.
I make a trip to the ladies room, where I stand side-by-side at the sink with some girls wearing skintight dresses that are shorter than my shirt. Mind you, I have on leggings with said shirt. Their sparkly dresses are what I like to call “stand-up dresses” because there’s absolutely no way you can get in a cab wearing one without sharing your sunshine. Even if these ladies weren’t also rockin some sequined mardi gras masks, I would still look exceedingly conservative. Staring at all of us in that mirror, I readjusted my leggings and snug tunic, and thought to myself, I could wear this outfit to church. Oh wait, I don’t go to church.
My internal time bomb starts ticking, so we say our goodbyes. Out on the street there are so many people! Everyone is dolled up. Look at all the people out so late at night, underneath the moon! Look at this whole world happening while I’m usually at home in bed or sitting at the computer as I am now. I once inhabited this nocturnal, festive world, but it’s a foreign country now. It is another planet altogether.
I pay the babysitter $60, four times the amount I spent on drinks tonight. To be perfectly accurate, I actually say goodbye to my sitter without paying her a cent. That last half beer pushed me over the edge and I completely flake on her. I text her (because I know she is just now hitting the bars) and leave a check for her in our mailbox.
My ears are still ringing as my head hits the pillow in a happy haze. So glad I don’t have to set the alarm tomorrow. I will probably not even hear Hubby get up. Please please please sleep in my darlings.
The babe, Smiley, wakes up and is inconsolable until I go in and soothe him. 30 minutes later I am back in bed.
Rascal appears at my bedside. “I throwed up in bed. I couldn’t make it to the bathroom, so I throwed up in the bed.” Luckily vomit does not make him hysterical or tearful (wish I could say the same thing about myself). Hubby helps him change clothes and wash up while I change his bed. The sheets are covered in carnage and I’m unfortunately able to identify every single thing he ate in the last 12 hours.
Once Rascal is tucked back into a clean bed, we rinse out the sheets in the bathtub (they are that disgusting) and throw them in the washing machine. If I am even remotely hungover come morning, the last thing I will want to smell is someone else’s puke.
Back to bed.
Who was I kidding? Sleeping in is simply not in my children’s genes. Hubby, who leaves the drinking to me, has left early for a bike race and I am left to dole out frozen waffles and Star Wars cartoons.
Smiley insists on acting his age, which means attempting to climb the stairs carrying scissors. Guess I won’t be dozing on the couch, trying to rehydrate from the evening’s fun, now will I?
Was it really just nine hours ago that my sweet friend asked me such a simple question?
Why don’t we go out any more??