Am I getting too old for this?

Like the sacrifical lamb, I offer to drive my better half to aparty. It says 7pm until late and I am already beginning to worry about whether I will suffer tomorrow and that’s without drinking. We arrive a bit late and everyone is milling around socialising, talking about their families, who they have spent the past few weeks finding babysitters for so that they can get away from them. Three hours in and I am being used as a leaning post by a large overweight man, who, in my sobre opinion, has had far too much to drink. He decides too reward my leaning post services by paying attention to me. I really wish he wouldn’t. After regaling me about the intricacies of rugby and cricket (which I don’t think I’ll ever really understand). I feel that I could now possibly over the limit to drive home, with the amount of alcoholic breath and spit that he has passed in my direction. I edge away and I notice even though I am not there he still continues to talk to me. I content myself with watching the people on the dance floor girate out of time to the discordant music of the band. The singer’s eyes are shut. He is living the dream. For tonight we are rebels, slightly past our prime. Though it saddens me to think we are more envious of the young than envied ourselves. It is ‘late’ and I escort my husband to the car. He has promised to navigate me out of London. As I start the engine, I turn to ask for directions, I hear a snore. The next ten minutes is spent dutifully studying a map.


~ by envisioningutopia on October 16, 2011.

One Response to “Am I getting too old for this?”

  1. I think we dutiful wives have all been there — we feel your pain!

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