On Saturday night post-wedding we headed out for an evening of bar hopping. Mike, aka the groom, worked in the restaurant business in Boston for years so he knows everyone. He’s also a great guy, so everyone is happy to see him. They were playing one of my favorite songs as we walked in to the first bar, which I took to be a good sign. And we had a really great group of people – smart, funny, good conversationalists – including a couple of people I hadn’t spoken to in 15 years or so.
I was tired, and my feet hurt, and after a while I didn’t care how interesting the conversations I was having were. The bar got hot and noisy and more and more crowded. So we went down the street to another bar. This time I snagged a barstool, so at least I was off my feet. The sparkling conversation continued, but I was seriously flagging. I may have started babbling about nothing. I wasn’t drunk, but I was tipsy. At one point I tottered over to Mike on my sore feet and told him, possibly at length, just how happy I was that he and Jules are together. I meant it, but perhaps not quite as emphatically as it came across.
By then it was after midnight and the group was ready to move on to the third bar, which was also a nightclub. I really wasn’t up for dancing. And I think I’d been up for almost 21 hours at that point. So I took a cab back to the hotel, washed my face and collapsed into bed. Ok, first I wasted some time trying to take a photo of myself in my outfit to show John and Becky (Becky being the person who suggested the store where I got my top) like they would never see it in person. It wasn’t a magical Cinderella-style disappearing top. Except, you know, I’d had a few drinks and I kept either blocking myself in the mirror by holding the camera in the wrong place or by forgetting to turn off the flash. I wonder if that is easier sober.
Back in college I was a hit multiple bars, close down whatever bar I was in, find an after hours club or party and then go get pizza or IHOP and roll in as the birds started to chirp kind of girl. Even when we stayed in the dorms or at someone’s house, I was up and in the thick of things all night long. I guess with being in Boston and being with some of my old crowd, I expected to feel the same way. But even though Saturday was a fun evening with people I really like and in cool bars where we were getting high quality food and drinks at a discount, I could have had just as good a time sitting on the couch with John, watching cheesy British sci-fi TV shows.
Just one more sign of my advancing age. I think I’m ok with this one though. I like my life a lot more now than I did when I was 22.
