OMG, I'm OLD

That's right, I'm officially old. And it has nothing to do with milestone birthdays, major life changes or any other obvious signs. I'm just old, and I just noticed. (This may not be news to you, but it certainly was to me.)

Back in the day (see, only old people start stories with "Back in the day..."), my Friday nights actually started on THURSDAY night, and ended Sunday morning. Now, sadly, I most look forward to Friday nights as "out to dinner" night. It's the end of the week, and I don't have to make dinner. Woop, woop, party on!

This past Friday night, however, I was invited to a party. An awesome party, in fact. It had all the trappings of a great party--it was a theme party (multiple themes, in fact--birthday, surprise, and 80s party). It had a DJ (Richard Blade!), good food, dancing, and lots of friends. There were even free drinks, and I had a designated driver (my friend Michelle). Mark was at a sleepover with his cousin, which meant I didn't have a curfew. It was gonna be a great night.

"I'm gonna party all night long!" I told Michelle, all giddy. "I'm gonna stay out until AT LEAST 10:30!"

It was definitely a fun night. Michelle and I had a blast, dancing and laughing with the birthday girl. We ate, we drank a couple beers, we took pictures with Richard Blade. 

Yes, he's still wearing a "Frankie says relax" t-shirt.

 And then, a couple hours later, we were ready to go. 

Not home, mind you--we were two mommies on a rare night out. We just decided to head closer to home, somewhere we could enjoy more drinks and leave the car overnight if need be. 

But Michelle missed the turn--she accidentally turned on to my street, heading for my home. 

"The bar's that way!" I said, pointing in the opposite direction. 

"Ahhh!" Michelle said. No worries, she could pull a U-turn and get our party back on track.

Except...then I yawned. And Michelle yelled at me, because it made her yawn, too. (Yawns are contagious.)

"Do you just want to go home and drink wine in our pajamas?" she asked.

I was about to get all mad (I have no kid tonight! I've got money in my pocket! The bar is still open and the night's just beginning! I...yawn!) when I realized this sounded like a great idea. 

"Heck yeah, I do!" I said. We got home two minutes later, exactly at 10:30 p.m., as Michelle helpfully pointed out.

And that's how we ended our night. We put on our pajamas, drank wine, and watched my favorite new T.V. show--Best Funeral Ever. (They buried a guy in a coffin shaped like a barbecue smoker! They raised a rib to him in heaven! PLEASE make this into a weekly series!) We talked and laughed and when we finally went to bed, we we very excited because we'd get to sleep in late (no squirrelly little boys waking us early!) and not be hung over. It. Was. AWESOME.

So yes, I realize that whole night was perfect, and great, and pathetic, all at once. And I don't even care--how sad is that? (Further proof I'm old.) I'm old, and a great night now includes a party, and then pajamas, wine, and bad T.V. with my best friend. No more wild nights out at the bar, or drunken dramas, or being incapacitated the next day with a raging hangover.

That's right, I'm old, and I just realized it. 

And, it turns out, it's not nearly as bad as the twenty-something Heather imagined it.