We went out last night. Wooooooo. Yep, it’s a weekly event for most, but we don’t get out much these days since babysitting came into the equation.
It was wild girls afloat – on land. OK, maybe inside my head. To the outside world, I get the impression we were more like mummies. Yes, I know you know there are children. I’m talking about the dead kind – from Ancient Egypt.
So hot right now – oo oo! Put your hands in the air!
It wasn’t a girls’ night, but we all went out for dinner together as a gang, and divided a neat line down the middle of table, with boys up one end and girls up the other, while one end drank beer and the other cocktails. That didn’t really happen. We’re far too mature for that, and mixed and mingled with the opposite sex like grown up adults. (Yes it did). One end of the table maturely shared the food on the share plates and offered seconds to one another, while the other end fought like toddlers over scraps. One end carefully perused the wine list and selected a Pinot Grigio from Victoria that complemented the Asian flavours nicely, while the other side stuck doggedly to beer. One end discussed jobs, careers, our weeks, handbags, cocktails, politics (no we didn’t), and physio vs chiro, and the other end did some grunting and laughing. This may or may not be a faithful recording of events. The food at China Beach in Manly is awesome though. So awesome I ate it all before I took a photo.
Me and my gorgeous friend who is named after a herb. We shall call her Parsley.
Then we kicked on to a place that shall not be named, ready for a few post-dinner drinks. The place was full of 20-somethings and possibly (possibly?) late teens, and I honestly didn’t think we stuck out that much. Until.
Five minutes after we’d arrived, a girl sat watching us, smiling, and then said ‘You guys are so awesome’. I was all ‘YES. Yes we are, totally. Thanks for noticing.’ And it was then … the horrible realisation dawned. She’d been smiling at us like you smile at your 90-year old grandmother, or your sweet pet dog, in that ‘aren’t they cute’ way. And she thought we were awesome JUST FOR BEING UPRIGHT and dancing rather than lying down in our crypts at midnight, being over 30 and all.
I needed to take stock. Absorb. Process. Go and see the ugly truth. So I went to the bathroom where another rude shock awaited.
A very kind, concerned sign on the back of the stall door said ‘Confused? Don’t be. The toilet paper’s behind you.’ I turned around, only to be confronted by a reflection OF MY BIG NAKED BUTT in a mirror. Oh, and some toilet paper. AND MY NAKED BUTT. Ha. Ha. Ha I get it. Was that supposed to be a joke? What kind of person wakes up in the morning and says – ‘oh – I’ll just go and get some mirrors to stick up behind my hotel toilets today’?? A man kind of person, I suspect.
Once you’re in your 30s, are we not supposed to dance anymore? Or just dance ironically, at funny 80s retro clubs doing the sprinkler? Or just sit in swanky wine bars, or, better yet, keep ourselves to ourselves, secreted away in each others’ homes drinking wine and falling asleep on the couch? Pubs and live bands are fun, but not so much for dancing.
I don’t want to go out dancing all that often, but I don’t want to feel like an old freak when I do. What I’d really like is an over-age club, where you need to show your ID to get in, and you have to be over 30 to get past the bouncer. Would that be too weird? Would that bring about all kinds of ageism?
I probably should have slunk home in my crypt-keeper dance floor shame, but I’ve decided not to care. I had an awesome night out with my friends, and I know something those other 20-somethings apparently don’t know. One day they’re going to hit 30 too.