I tagged along to a “girls’ night
out” a couple of weeks ago. I say
“tagged” because out of a group of 10 girls, I really only knew one of
them fairly well. Plus this
was a little bit different to the kind of ‘night out with the girls’ that I was
used to. Translation: I don’t go out much, not like
this!
To begin, dinner was non-existent and
the night kicked off with an all-you-can drink event at a bar, and proceeded to
a club.
The significance of the evening however, was the average age of this
group. Without going into details,
at 40-something, I was essentially the ‘grandma’ of the group. PLUS the girls
were all drop-dead gorgeous, and dressed in a way that accentuated their
model-thin bodies and legs that went on forever! Yup. I was
surrounded by pretty young things and I was feeling dowdy and old. I REALLY need to start hanging out with
people either my own age or older!
Kidding.
At 40-something, its been a LONG time
since I embarked on these sort of nights.
You know, where you start late and finished later, surviving on
next-to-no-sleep – AND could dance effortlessly in skyscraper shoes! Argh! Talk about feeling my age!
And yet, way back then, some 20 years
ago, when my energy knew no bounds and I hardly stayed in, life was just one
big party after another – most of my male friends were fabulously gay and I
never had to paid door charge or stand in queue! Looking back, I cannot help but grin and wonder how I
managed to not get into more trouble than I did!
But that was then. Then, came the flurry of babies and I
had to expand my limited cooking skills beyond throwing together a salad or
heating up a can of soup! What all my poor ex-boyfriends had to put up with,
where the most enthralling meal I could scrape together involved a jar of
“Chicken Tonight”! Ah yes, I can
STILL hear that haunting jingle…
But while I LOVED the tempestuousness
of my crazed 20s, I welcomed my tangible 30s where, even though late nights out
were substituted by unhinged sleep deprivation of a different sort, the hard
work from the previous decade had started to pay dividend.
And then I turned 40. My eyesight is no longer as good as it
used to be and my knees remind me how much I hate stairs. I no longer bother weighing myself and
I can only indulge in a conservative glass or two of champagne because of the
bubbles. Bedtimes past midnight
are murderous and I only wear killer heels if no walking is required!
But its not all bad. I am now much better at saying “no”,
have honed my decision-making abilities, befriended my shortcomings and learnt
to be more flexible. Now, my
favourite get-togethers almost always entails delicious food, great wine and
wonderful company with captivating conversation.
I read somewhere that “forty is the
old age of youth, fifty the youth of old age; and that age is a question of
mind over matter – if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter”. So here’s to enjoying my fabulous 40s
as I work out what to serve up at my next dinner party!
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