‘Bollocks’ I thought to myself as the Greek God(zilla) called up to me for the fourth time that morning.
I lifted my head slowly up from the mascara stained pillow beneath it, and tried to focus my vision on the powder pink clock just out of arms reach away.
I took a sip from the cold mug of tea beside me and wondered why the room was spinning.
We were due to be driving to Devon in 30-minutes time. Although, you will be pleased to hear that I would be seated firmly on the passenger side, preferably with a bacon sandwich in one hand and a litre of water in the other.
Images of Prosecco, music, and dancing in someone else’s kitchen flashed before my eyes.
OH MY EYES!
I cringed for a few moments before sliding my heavy legs out of bed and steadying myself on rather unsteady ground.
A quick glance down and I realised I was still wearing most of last night’s clothes; my jacket lay crumpled in a heap on the bedroom floor and there was a bra perched on top of it. Although, I was relieved to recognise it as one of my own.
My shoes had been haphazardly kicked off and discarded in the loo, while the contents of my handbag were trailing all the way down the stairs.
‘How are you feeling?’ my husband asked, a little too smugly.
‘Fine’ I responded, a little too defensively.
It was going to be a long drive.
I don’t know what I was thinking, except that I was not.
I had not intended to stay out for more than one or two glasses, but was having such a lovely time that I stopped counting after three. Or actually, maybe it was after 3am, I can’t quite remember which.
I’m getting way too old for feeling this shit.
Most of the parties I get invited to are held during the day, where it is perfectly acceptable to drink sparkling water, or ask for a cup of tea. Even on the occasions when I am not responsible for a 4-year old, I am still able to pace myself and alternate glasses of Prosecco bubbles with those of the San Pellegrino variety.
On a recent hen weekend where I had a free pass to get totally smashed with the bride-to-be, I still kept myself ‘nice’ because well, I am 40. I was also spending a whole night in a hotel room BY MYSELF and did not want to spend most of it on the loo; or wake-up after a few hours of unconsciousness to stare at the ceiling, willing more sleep to come until morning finally broke.
Most of the time I do remember that I can’t still party like it’s 1999, and for this I am grateful. The times when I have attempted to have been more accidental than out of a desire to relive a part of my lost youth.
Every now and then, I get over-excited by the company I am in and it all goes to pot. I may be with an old friend, a new one, my sister, or my husband. The conversation turns to something that we both get caught up in for hours. Huddled around a bottle, we put the world to rights. This is when I forget to sip, eat too few carbs, and lose track of time. It mostly always ends with dancing badly in someone’s kitchen.
Although there is a certain pleasure in revisiting the things I liked to do when I was young, I am beginning to wonder if that’s enough anymore.