I’m not completely delusional. I understand I’m getting lumpier and more wrinkled by the day. I understand gravity has not been kind. I was (perhaps not fully adequately but mostly) prepared to be physically and emotionally different after having my son. . .
What I wasn’t prepared for was how absolutely fucking old I feel sometimes.
One need look no further than my most recent “Girls Night” to understand the depth and breadth of humiliation I was forced to endure:
My dear friend from college Tina and I planned to see Inxs. We gave ourselves license to behave as badly as we wanted. . .Just like college. I had the specter of a cranky infant the following day haunting me early in the evening, but after our old school attempts at “pre-gaming” with a “cherry vodka and coke race” I pretty much forgot I had just birthed the little butterball nearly two and a half months prior. . .a foggy head at 5AM was the least of my concerns.
We begin our encounters with the young (and frequently stupid) kind after our pre-concert cocktails, during which Tina lavishly praised my appearance. “You look phenomenal. I can’t believe it’s barely been three months.” I felt a little smug. Tina was always very frank and candid with her opinions.
I was wearing a black wrap dress. AND? Just before I left the house I muttered these words to myself in the mirror: “Life is too short for SPANX.” So yes, I could have looked more toned and trim around the mid-section but the dress was skimming most of the offending areas well enough.
As we left the outdoor bar, I was walking just a tad bit taller in my Nine West wedges feeling very confident thanks to copious amounts of vodka and all of Tina’s kind words. Drinks in hand we strolled toward the concert venue. That’s when we ran into some random “kid.” He was probably 26. Wanted to know if we had any cigarettes. We chatted for a few moments and he actually seemed very polite. . .Mid sentence he looks me up and down. “Hey, is that a baby bump?”
PowerPlantLive was bustling with music and people but I swear at that moment it was as if the courtyard had become some kind of silent vacuum. I was waiting for Tina to plant her gorgeous peep-toe, spiked heel bootie in his forehead. The seconds ticked by like hours. Clearly, given our reactions, he realized he asked an inappropriate question.
HE ASKED THE MOTHER OF ALL INAPPROPRIATE QUESTIONS!!
He started to back pedal a little, stumbling over his words and offering excuses. I attempted to be gracious. To him I was clearly just some older, potentially pregnant, vodka swilling woman. You understand how fucking fatally flawed his logic is.
I pointed out to him it was definitely not a baby bump. Had it been a baby bump I would not have been swilling a bunch of booze. Furthermore, I offered him some advice in lieu of a punch in the nuts. Unless you actually see a baby coming out of a woman, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER ask her if she’s pregnant!
Once inside the venue we endured more reminders of our “advanced age” from the young and firm.
Presenting our tickets to the bouncer, he stamped both of our hands. Tina asked him if he was planning to card us? “For this show?” he replied laughing so hard he was coughing.
I was standing at the bar, swilling Fordham Lager, weighing the consequences of assaulting the twatwaffle bouncer when Tina started yapping about Suicide Blonde. She was hoping we hadn’t missed it. Tina is a for-real true blonde and although I was previously unaware, she loooooooooooves that song sooooooo much!
I leaned over the bar and asked the adorable bartender – who couldn’t have not been a day over 22 if we had missed Suicide Blonde? Her reaction. . .
Wait for it. . .
“There are only two bands playing here this evening.”
The night went downhill from there and the two of us “old hags” ended up at the Sip n Bite in the pre-dawn hours, eating huge breakfasts and laughing about our adventure. You know what else we laughed about? We wouldn’t trade on bit of our sagging or wrinkles to be 20-something again.