Tomorrow night is going to be a "girls' night out." We're watching a show, we're eating wings, and we're drinking 'til god knows when. It's been a while since I've had a girls' night out.
In the last several years, my social circle has predictably dwindled to my sig other. And now that marriage, children and a two-car garage are on the horizon, the prospect of going to a bar and ogling/turning down the advances of strange men doesn't sound as exciting to me as it did before.
Man, I'm old.
The other night, I was having a nice dinner with the Fiance, when I noticed a table across the room where three gray-haired ladies were enjoying their meals. I watched them banter, sip their red wine, and laugh hysterically. They seemed to transform into high school girls. It looked like the kind of friendship that had weathered decades of heartache, drama with the in-laws, teenage children, and mortgage payments.
I wondered to myself, am I going to have my own golden girls? Will I still be having a girls' night out in my sixties, except eating medium rare steak with red wine instead of wings with beer?
One can only hope. So, in spite of my newfound homebody-ness, I am going out. Not all out.
But out with the girls.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment