It's 9 o'clock on the Saturday night before Labor Day. I'm wearing gray sweats and a pink tank top. My hair is pulled up in a messy bun and I haven't showered today. I've got one load of laundry in the washer, one load in the dryer and one load scattered across the hallway floor. Five minutes ago, I walked over to the refrigerator and squirted what felt like a pint of Ready Whip directly into my mouth. DIY network is on the tube and I'm hoping to learn how to properly refinish hardwood floors.
The 21 year old me is laughing her butt off right now!
When did I get so old?
I've been on this planet for 36 years. So if you are at least 36 years and one day, please stop reading this blog post immediately. Because I already know what you are going to say: "Thirty-six?! That's so young! When I was your age, I had energy for days! I woke up every morning feeling like I could conquer the world!"
Great. Not only do I feel old, but now I feel depressed that I'm way ahead of my time. Or behind it. Or something.
Anyway, why don't I wake up every morning feeling like I can conquer the world? Most days I barely feel like conquering Mt. Keruig for a cup of coffee.
Recently I complained about having stairs in my house and referred to a 24 year old as a "snot nosed kid". True story. Somebody, quick - play an 80s song so I can feel young again!
Occasionally I will plan a night out in hopes of seeing a glimpse of my youth. After a scientific study (i.e., me going out 3 times over the past 12 months), I've determined that I really like getting ready to go out.
I enjoy shopping for something new and fun to wear. I wipe the cobwebs off my shoes that are too uncomfortable to wear to work and that I wouldn't dream of wearing to one of my daughter's softball games. I wash, dry, flat iron and/or curl my hair and put on makeup. Faux eyelashes are optional.
I realize how little attention I must typically pay my appearance because of how uber-inconvenienced I am when I actually do. Styling my hair and applying makeup used to just be called a Tuesday. Now it's called a HOLY CRAP! HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GET ONE GIRL READYday.
But yes, even though I have to block off an entire afternoon, getting dressed up and having somewhere to go feels like prom night for a working mother of two.
Usually I go to a fancy restaurant without kids' menus or booster seats. And although I have to dip into my 401(k) to pay for it - man! it sure is nice to eat something other than chicken nuggets or mac 'n' cheese for a change.
But it's the end of the eating phase when my dreams of youth are slowly crushed one by one. I begin to dread the inevitable and painful exhaustion that I'm going to feel tomorrow. Why is that music so loud? I can barely hear myself think!
And apparently that $34 pork chop has made my feet grow two sizes because my stilettos have become vices, meticulously squeezing the life out me from the toes up. By the time midnight rolls around, forget it. I'm like Cinderella except I turn into a has-been whose children are going to want pancakes at 7 o'clock in the morning.
This is usually the time of night when I scan the room wondering how everybody else is doing it. How are they still laughing and dancing? Because right now, I feel like being upright is worthy of an Honorable Mention.
Then I notice that they are all about 24 years old. Ahhh, so that's their secret.
And I think, 'Twenty-Four?! That's so young! When I was their age, I had energy for days! I woke up every morning feeling like I could conquer the world!'