This past Saturday was St. Patrick’s Day. The hubs and I weren’t going to do anything in particular. All three of our older kids were gone for the weekend, but we still had the moose at home. (The moose is our baby boy.) We had planned on just having some drinks at home and watching some TV.
Well……..on Saturday, my mother – who was supposed to be going out of town – decided not to and then volunteered to keep Moose over night. It was going to be the first time he had ever stayed overnight anywhere. So – counting the 9 months I spent pregnant and the 10.5 months he’s been alive – it has been a long-ass time since the hubs and I had went out; just the two of us. St. Patrick’s Day the year before- I was about six weeks away from giving birth and wearing a heart monitor. And the year before that – we had all the kiddos at home with us and made green pizza. So, I didn’t feel at all guilty accepting my mom’s proposal to watch the Moose so we could go out and celebrate St. Patrick’s Day; adult style.
And of course, as soon as I found out that we were going out, my mind started to conjure up all these hopeful expectations of how the night would go. The whole morning and afternoon, I daydreamed about what fun delights awaited me and kept pondering what I should wear, what to do with my hair, makeup, etc. I got so carried away with my fantasy that by the time I arrived at the mall to find a green shirt, I had made my hair five inches longer, my waist five inches smaller, and myself five inches taller. I had also put my delusions of grandeur off on my St. Patty’s day attire. I went through the entire mall and just could not find a shirt on the rack that matched the one hanging in my head. And if I was totally honest with myself, I would have realized that the outfit I had imagined probably cost around $200.00 and would have required non-imaginary money to pay for it. So, I left the mall dejected and that was just the start of my bubbles bursting for the evening.
So a few hours later, ‘T’ and I were ready to hit the town. We had called all of our friends we used to hang out with once upon a time and told them we had a hall pass for the night. We all agreed to meet at this somewhat dive bar called, ‘Sliders’.
Now – when ‘T’ and I used to go out, we usually got all made up and then headed straight for the club/bar, whatever. And that’s what we did this time too……sort of. First we had to drop the baby off and then ‘T’ decided that he wanted to stop by the liquor store because it’s, “ so expensive to drink at a bar. It’s more cost-effective to drink at home before you go and then just drink a little at the bar.” (Cheap bastard). Ok, fine; we stopped at the liquor store. Ok – now we’re ready to go…….ummm, after we eat something first. I know when I was younger, I never ate before I went clubbing. (I didn’t want my stomach to be poochy.) Now – because it’s been almost two years since I’ve had any alcohol – it’s necessary to eat a little something. Ok, fine; we stopped at Taco Bell. We decided just to take our Taco Bell with us and eat in the parking lot at the bar. ‘T’ said we needed to hurry so we could get a good parking spot.
We pull up to Sliders and are in luck. We couldn’t have gotten a better spot unless we were handicapped. I’m munching on my Taco and looking around and notice that there is not a shortage of good parking spots. In fact, the only thing there is a shortage of…..are other cars. We are on the only people there. How can that be; is it closed? No, it’s not closed. What’s the deal? ‘T’ and I both look at the time on our dashboard and realize it’s 7:00pm. “Ummmm, I think we’re too early”, ‘T’ said. So, ok – I forgot that we used to not go out until around 9 or so. But, it was St. Patrick’s Day; shouldn’t people have been drinking since morning already? We can’t be the only early birds. We waited some more. Still no one. I had begun to think that maybe everyone did start drinking early that morning and that we were actually too late – rather than early. Everyone must be drunk and already passed out at home. I was about to call our friends and tell them not to bother coming when a car pulled up beside us. “See ‘T’, we’re not the only ones who got here kind of early.” “Ummm, yeah……”, said ‘T’. “But, I’m guessing it’s because those people want to get home in time for the 10 o’clock news.” I look to see what he is talking about and getting out of the car beside us was the sweetest little old lady…..pushing a walker. And yes – she was going into the bar to get her drink on.
So, more and more cars were starting to show up and we decided to go on in. The place was pretty dead. There was only about a handful of people in there – including Mother Goose. ‘T’ and I grabbed a table and ordered some drinks while we waited on our friends to get there. So, we were drinking and talking and, for once in a long time, were totally focused on each other – instead of all our kids. When I looked away again, an hour had passed and the place was definitely starting to fill up. We were having to talk louder and our waitress was not coming by as quickly as she had been. Our friends had sent us text messages, letting us know they would be there any minute. ALLRIGHT – LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED!
I was looking around, feeling the music, taking it all in…….and noticed that most of the patrons were of the silver, blue, and pale pink-haired variety. I couldn’t even pick Mother Goose out of the crowd anymore; there were three more ladies with walkers that could have easily been her. WTF? Were we at ‘Sliders’ or ‘Seniors’? Was there a retirement party going on? A 50th anniversary celebration? It was like Bingo at the church on Wednesday nights; only with margaritas instead of covered dishes. And then, this older lady at the table beside me pulled this little miniature battery-powered fan out of her purse and set it on her table. She caught me staring and said, “It’s designed to blow the smoke away from your face; like if people are smoking around you.” No shit! That’s awesome! Where can I get one of those? So, that pretty much sold me on partying with them. I mean, buying an apparatus, which sole purpose, is to further enhance your Saturday night experience; THAT’S HARDCORE!
Our friends finally show up and there is drinking and dancing and merriment had by all. So, speaking of dancing – I don’t mean to brag – but I was a pretty good dancer at one time. I took dance lessons all through my childhood years, was on the pom squad in high school, competed in pageants, and even went to college on a dance scholarship. I used to own the dance floors at the clubs. Most people go clubbing to either drink or hook up. Well – let me re-phrase that. Most girls go clubbing –expecting guys to buy them drinks ….and then the guys go – hoping that all that drinking will lead to them hooking up. I went clubbing just to dance. I would hit the dance floor and dance song after song after song. The only drinking I would do was the 32oz bottle of Aquafina I would down when I finally took a break during a slow song. I loved to dance back then. I still love to dance now and so I strutted out to the dance floor with every intention of claiming my former glory.
I hit the dance floor, do a couple of test turns, and then I’m off. The dance demon in me has been unleashed! I’m moving right to left, head moving side to side, eyes closed, hair whipping around. Oh yeah – I’m on fire! I feel so good! I don’t have a mirror but I just know that I look fantastic. If the men at this bar didn’t have cataracts, I’m sure they would all be ogling me. I’m feeling like Demi Moore in ‘Striptease’…….for about two minutes.
Now, I only have a couple of bras at home that fit right now – and they are all nursing bras. I quit nursing like a month ago though and my old bras still don’t fit, so yes – I am still rocking the nursing bras. But I couldn’t wear one that night because of the shirt I was wearing, so I opted to wear this one bra that’s not really much of a bra at all. It’s more like a sports-bra type thing that’s really thin. It doesn’t have any padding or an underwire or anything. I think it’s supposed to be worn at night because it’s that comfortable. I have small boobies anyways, so generally I don’t require many qualifications from a bra.
Funny, surprising tid-bit about small boobs though. Apparently, even if you have small boobs and you have been nursing a baby for the past 9.5 months –even after you wean your baby - small boobs will still be saggy and floppy; just like their heavtier counterparts. True fact.
So…….not only am I out there dancing – but my boobs are as well. And, I have to say that they weren’t even trying to stay in sync with me.
Ok – so no problem; I won’t do those moves anymore. So, my pace slows down. But, I’m still going. And then, my gut decides it wants to join the party as well. Now, I had specifically told my gut before we left the house that it was to stay inside my jeans. I distinctly remember that. But, here we are – not even two hours later – and my gut is deliberately disobeying me. I keep hiking my jeans back up (which lets everyone see the elastic waist on them), but it was to no avail.
So, at this point I’m really just standing on the dance floor – snapping and moving my head to the music. This is fine with me because I had already started to get a stitch in my side and was panting like I had just done a Zumba session. And – oh yeah – heaving in an out uncontrollably really makes your gut look good, let me tell ya. But what looks better than that is the sweat running down my face.
At that point, I had only been on the floor for one song.
So – back to the table I go.
It became real obvious to me a few drinks later that my drinking stamina was just slightly better than my dancing stamina. I didn’t even get to enjoy being tipsy. I went from sober to sick in about two drinks and a shot. I head off to the bathroom and my girlfriends accompany me. Now, when I was single and us girls would go to the bathroom, it was to primp and reapply and answer text messages from one guy that you couldn’t answer because you were out with another guy. I don’t think we ever even used the toilet. But, now – my girlfriends and I ended up hanging out in the bathroom (where it’s quiet) and talking with another random grandma in there about all of our kids – and her grandkids.
Ok – it’s time to go home.
We’re on the way home and ‘T’ decides that since we’re reliving good times at the bar, than we might as well relive some good times in the car. The mood was lost though because I screamed, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” when he tried to pull my head down into his lap. No joke – we hadn’t done anything like this in so long that I actually thought he was going to fart in my face and hold my head down so I couldn’t get away from it. And the last time we did partake in some ‘road games’, we had a truck – not a mini-van. Even though you can do most anything in a mini-van comfortably, that particular activity is not one of them.
Well, we gave up on that.
But ‘T’ is determined. So the rest of the way home he is telling me how hot I am and how much he wants me and how he’s going to give it to me and get prepared because it’s going to go on and on and on and on.
Fifteen minutes later, we are at home, already done (well ‘T’ was), and asleep. (Well ‘T’ was).
So – that was my first foray back into my adult life. And I don’t claim to be too old; just a little out of practice. But I am determined as well. I’ll tell you one thing though; the ole girl aint what she used to be…….but then again, neither is the ole boy. J