Golden Girls

Shelley and I went out to Bar 62 on Friday night.  We have drunk in there for years and we were discussing over a champagne/G&T or 15, how the clientele had changed over the course of our frequenting.  Everyone these days in there looked a little bit old... and Mummy-ish.  Wasn't it funny how their client-base had changed?  The realisation dawned soon enough that we were not actually looking at these people in the correct light however.  We belonged to that group and the ambience of the bar seemed to have grown older, as we had and we fitted in perfectly.

I was telling Shell about how when I went out with my Uni mates in the summer, (and I really can't remember if I told them this or not on the night, so I may get a few rude comments if they are reading), I came back from the loo, (pissed, obvs.), and was cross that our table in the pub had been taken over by a load of older women.  Oh no, but it hadn't.  It's just in my head my Uni mates are still aged between 18 and 21 and not between 36 and forrrrttt....(s'alright Lyns, I stopped myself).

The differences are subtle in mine and Shell's nights out together, but are most definitely there.  Neither of us puked or had to carry the other one into a taxi at the end of the night. There was no freezing our arses off in the garden for a cigarette anymore.  We made a decision to leave just BEFORE last orders rather than having to be peeled off the bar and thrown out the door as they were locking up.  We ate a proper meal, instead of the 'eating's cheating' philosophy and the 'why waste good booze money on food' idea that we held in our twenties.  Nobody snogged anyone, took any of their clothes off, or did anything illegal.  Yet, I still managed to have a brilliant night!  Oh dear - I'm officially old.  :-(

We still were disgusted at the cheek of the drunk, really old ma, (totes at least 45), that came to chat us up.  We're not that old.  He was definitely punching way above his weight.  Fortunately, I am swift to deal with such unwelcome intruders.  It went something like this:

DROM:  'Am I interrupting anything?'

ME:  'Yes.'

*PAUSE*

DROM:  'Should I go away then?'

ME:  'Yes.'

*PAUSE then slow, uncomfortable saunter away by DROM*

Cue uncontrollable laughter from the completely unhelpful Mrs Williams...

I think we are beginning to realise that we aren't 21 any longer, or even 25.  It's taken a while.  On the plus side it meant that we could wake up on Saturday morning knowing that we hadn't been sick/snogged someone/been thrown out of any bars/done anything illegal.  On the minus side it did mean that we didn't need a hilarious cringing phonecall to fill in the blanks from the night before.  I always enjoyed those phonecalls much more than Shelley as I never had the three hour black holes that she did the next day.

There is a lot of reminiscing in our conversations when we're out these days.  Do you remember the night of the rotating sick/naked star jumps across the road/ugly blind date man?  It does make me wonder what we will talk about in ten years time?  We really aren't creating any gossip any longer and I can't imagine us recalling the night in Bar 62 when we had a lovely meal, great catch-up and went home before closing...  Maybe the stories from our twenties are good enough to keep us entertained forever?  Or maybe, just maybe, this is a temporary blip of sanity and once we have shed the shackles of small dependents we may revert to prancing about half-naked and puking again?  For everybody else's sake, I sincerely hope not.