On July 11, I will be turning 30 yet again. It has become a great joke between family and friends. At the rate that I am “aging”, I will be younger than my little brother. Things have changed a lot since the days of crawling home at 6am and being dull enough to believe that drinking rum and cokes and brown cows was a good idea. Yeah, that was a mistake I will never make again. I don’t think my stomach has ever forgiven me for that disaster.
I used to be able to party with the best of them. I remember partying all night, getting two hours sleep and showing up to work somewhat coherent. In my drunken haze I was queen of the Karaoke mike and mistress of the dance floor. Even though American liquor is really watered down, we would cross the border to party because the bars were open later.
Now that I am the mother of two, Mayhem successfully using the potty is what gets me going. How does one go from dancing to Closer to God in cheap shoes and gravity defying bra to howling at the moon on ladies night in the garage? No you didn’t read that last sentence wrong. In the Niagara region as women age, we retreat from the bars and except for the occasional cougar night we end up partying in the garage.
There you have it…On the very rare occasion that I am free of parental responsibility, I’m off to a garage to drink cheap wine and sing Bitch by Meredith Brooks at the top of my lungs. Looking back I realize how much life has changed as the unhusband and I now have garage envy.
I am ashamed to admit it but we are now discussing how to pimp out our garage for the sake of an adult retreat. We have envisioned a wood burning stove, a poker table and a half decent stereo system. How do you know that you are getting old…when you get excited about partying in your garage.
Alright your turn…time to reveal signs of aging, bad drinking stories, or how you plan to spend your impending midlife crises.