Last night, after much coercing, coaxing and cajoling, I joined a group of girlfriends for a bachelorette party night on the town. There are, IMMEDIATELY, at least two problems with this:
1) my new, preferred bed time is 10:30. Teeth brushed, face washed, recently purchased wrinkle cream lovingly applied, jammies, bed-time socks, etc.
2) deviating from routine now causes anxiety. Yeah, I know--mild OCD. We've been over this.
However, the girls were persistant. Plus, The Man kept saying stupid, positive things like; "you should go! You'll have fun!" "You should go! You'll have fun!" "You should go! You'll have fun!"
Sigh. I caved in. I even found a shirt that (I thought) cleverly concealed the body that might as well be a billboard SHRIEKING
HEY THERE! I'VE HAD TWO KIDS!
Yay me. So, all of my girlfriends gathered first for drinks, snacks and gossip. All of them were wearing SKINNY JEANS. Me? I don't even bother trying skinny jeans on in stores, because I don't need to lower my self esteem that much. Okay, who cares. They've all had just one child, and my body was still good after having Jack, aside from the obligatory JELLY BELLY. No worries karen, you can rock your wide-legged jeans. Second, all of the girls were wearing funky black leather boots. Who cares that I was wearing my favourite bo-ho wedgy-ish sandals. I'm an INDIVIDUAL, right? Also, there's that matter of the purse. I'm the only idiot with her little purse on with the strap crossed between my boobers, because a strap will NEVER FREAKING STAY UP ON THESE SLOPING SHOULDERS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
Let's back up here a moment.
When the stay-at-home mom is forced to go out for a girlie/fancy/formal event, chances are she will mildly panic. Why? Because she no longer has the appropriate clothes. Yes, she has a hoody in every colour of the rainbow. Yes, she has some comfortable, shlumpy jeans, that are slightly stylish, but they're a little frayed on the bottom from never having the time or inclination to hem them (stupid short legs). Yes, she has a really cool pair of running shoes, because after dropping the little people at school, she goes for a power walk every day. No, she never rolls up to the school wearing high heels, fancy clothes and too much makeup because she'd LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT.
So, what I'm saying here is that I'm fairly out of touch. But whatever. Mostly I've evolved beyond that highschoolish paranoia of image. I style myself to please myself, do up some killer makeup, adjust my scarecrow hair, smell PHENOMENAL, and off I go.
After being forced to put on some "Mardi Gras beads", a pink button that says "princess", and a glow bracelet, and receiving a drinking straw with a little penis and scrotum on it (sigh), I tried to plead to the girls that all this fun bachelorette gear was like putting on a uniform that told everyone: "Hi, I'm a COUGAR," but they just laughed, so I decided to be a good sport.
And so we headed out on the town...
|I have to admit: I kinda LURV the button|
Kill me now. GET GRAMMA HER WHISKY!!!
I have come to realise something: yes, it's fun to go out with the girls. However, bars are not my thang any longer. By 1:30 in the MOTHERF*#&ING A.M. I had had enough. Enough THUMP THUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMP noise, enough drinky-drinks that weren't even giving me a decent buzz anyway (sniff!), enough girls in tight little dresses with super high heeled shoes, enough being moved out of the way like I was a human box, and enough questioning my own hawtness.
Because, for a 5000 year old woman, most of the time I feel okay. And people, I'm not kidding when I say I always smell PHENOMENAL.
Still, I have GOT to peel the shrink wrap off that yoga DVD.
Be a DEAR and click this linky here for me, won't you? Mama has a hangover.