I love a good bank holiday weekend. It makes you feel like you have a tiny little holiday, and although you normally get two days off together, the appeal of three makes you do things a little differently. So on Saturday I had a bake off with my sister, and then on Sunday night decided to go out for a drink and a dance with a friend.
I had a bit of a wobble around five when it rained and contemplated cancelling it, in favour of sitting in and watching the House box set, but I sucked it up and went.
I’m getting old. I know age is but a number, but when she turned up at nearly nine on a Sunday night I couldn’t help but think that if the next day was a working day, I would have been firmly positioned in my bed with a cup of tea by now, or alternatively watching a rubbish film with the house girls. But I went out all the same, and came to this conclusion. I’m not as young as I used to be. Yes, I know, I’m only twenty five and in the prime of life blah blah, but I can honestly say that I don’t move as quick as I used to, nor do I want to. I like going out for dinner and watching films, whereas five years ago I liked dancing till dawn and shoes didn’t hurt my feet.
Oh how the times have changed. We went to a bar and had a few drinks, and then made our greatest mistake. We decided to go onto a club. It was a Sunday night, and although we thought it would be quite busy, it really wasn’t. But it was nice, we sat and chatted and went for a dance without being accidently elbowed in the head by a tall man, or having our feet trampled by a clumsy girl in stilettos. Bonus!
We were wearing jeans and heels, and felt a bit done up for a Sunday night on the tiles but were reassured however that we were not when five girls in hot pants stumbled through the room on route to the bar. There are some things that you don’t want to see, and another girl’s bum cheeks are one of them. Sure, bums are nice, but not on public display.
We went for a dance. And this is where the fun began. Minding our own business and having a laugh, we were approached by three lads who looked like extras from One Direction.
I laughed and danced off by myself, not caring that I looked like I was on my own, more to enjoy myself than be dragged into a clapping vacuum. But I didn’t move fast enough. Clappy’s pal collared me telling me I looked like Rachel Bilson (I don’t) and that I NEEDED to dance with him. I asked him how old he was.
“20!” he said. Lord, I do look younger than I am. I did the obligatory “aaaahh!! sweet” which normally puts them off, and he then decided he was 22. A bit less confidently. I didn’t crack a smile. “24?” he asked? Still not old enough for me honey bunch! I politely let him tell me about his degree and dorm room, until I made a swift exit to the loo, where we regrouped and had a bit of a giggle.
Not put off, we went back for another dance, to a different area of the room. by this time my feet were aching, and I could hear my bed calling me. I was tired. But I would not be defeated! We bopped around for a bit longer, and then made our decision to go home. At the door we were cornered by the three musketeers, who enquired where we were going.
“Home? But its only half one!”