Monday, 16 June 2014

year thirty-two

I turned 32 this weekend.  Cataloguing the comparisons to my last birthday, at 32 I am:
  • Squidgier
  • More settled
  • About as happy
  • Wrinklier
  • Sunnier
  • A mother of dragons cats
  • Tireder
  • Longer haired & blonder
  • More nervous about the outlook
  • Yet calmer, generally
We had friends around to watch the rugby and eat dinner in a very civilised fashion the night before my birthday.  We kept the fact of my birthday reasonably quiet -- I've always felt odd about hosting a celebration for MEMEME, but P never wants to let the moment pass, so we usually end up having some kind of hybrid function that makes me feel squeamish (see for example the leaving/30th party in 2012 - I love celebrating and usually relish a bit of attention, but feel odd about celebrating my anniversary of life!). As I was doing the dishes just before midnight, most of the guests having left, P's friend PJ discovered my birthday was about to begin and started teasing me -- you're not too old for dancing, let's go to town! Come on woman, get your glad rags on! -- and as I sluiced the sink, I thought, challenge accepted.  I threw on a pair of heels, winced at the likely blister they'd cause, slapped on a red lipstick and we charged for the city.

I felt old but happy.  Old, as in we headed for bars frequented by the 20 year old set.  I was wearing far more clothing than they were, which made me feel vaguely prudish, but stuff it, I thought as we knocked back a drink and headed for the dancefloor.  P and PJ (the only others from the dinner party who'd had the stamina or ability, babies and pregnancy presenting obstacles to last minute debauches) took turns at dancing with me and making me laugh breathlessly.  They shamelessly showered me with compliments, which was extremely sweet and a lovely birthday present.  We chatted up girls for PJ, visited a few old haunts and a few new.

I was grateful to be me and 32.  I didn't want to be 20 again, as fun as it once was.  I am grateful for my friends and my husband and my life that sees me tucked up in bed before 10, usually.  I'm glad I went though; I had a good time. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Tell me your deepest secrets. Or your opinion on the Oxford comma. Or your favourite pre-dinner drink. Anything really, as long as it's not mean.