Now that most of my friends are coupled – myself included – we’ve stopped groping, pashing-for-fun, stacks-on-fifteen-people-dry-humping-on-someone’s-bed-and-where-the-hell-did-this-whip-come-from at parties. I miss that. (Ok, there is some boob groping, but not as much as there used to be and it’s generally just with one group of friends who don’t have many house parties these days.) If anyone suggests something more exciting than alcohol, there’s a ten minute discussion about what we have coming up at work over the next two weeks before deciding that it just takes too long to recover these days, thankyouverymuch.
And next to the line of eskies is a line of prams. I don’t begrudge my friends having kids, but apparently kids don’t respect hangovers.
My single friends must find our parties terribly boring. Particularly when I say things like “terribly boring”.
There are upsides, of course.
The wine is better.
When we talk about politics, we actually know what we’re talking about.
And when we act like pretentious wankers discussing raw milk cheese, it’s because we are pretentious wankers.
Yeah, I’m not sure those second two are upsides.
Anyway, I was invited to a 21st on Saturday night. I’m just as surprised as you are that I know someone that young. And no, it wasn’t a relative. I was Whingey McWhingeypants over the weekend with another cold (reckon it’s because I work part-time, so I’m not getting daily exposure to other people’s germs), so I went along for two drinks and then called it a night. Hey, do I know how to party OR WHAT?!
The next afternoon, as The Birthday Girl, The Tall Lady, and I enjoyed Jen‘s baked treats (sadly, not a euphemism – see the start of this post), they filled me in on all the fun that young people have: being obnoxious to old people (ie, people my age), pissing off the neighbours, and pashing and groping each other for the hell of it. Damn them and their fun times.
I try to keep a child-like joy in my life. Others probably say I’m immature but they’re not the boss of me. Yes, yes, I know we have to grow up and blah blah blah. But most of being a grown up is just so damn boring.
So, dear friends in real life, next time there’s a house party, you’ve been warned.
