Remember the days when you could afford a Wednesday morning hangover? I think I can. I'm not quite sure, though. It very well could be a figment of my imagination. Maybe my brain is just trying to make me feel better about being an old lady at 25. It's just that I need my beauty sleep far more than I need a hangover. Is that so unreasonable? Probably. I am 25 after all.
Ugh. When did I become such an old lady? Like seriously, when did the transition from spry, fun-loving young lady to sleepy, crotchety old lady happen?
Do you ever ask yourself that question? If I really think about it, I realize that in one way or another I've always been a bit of an old lady. I've always needed my sleep and I've always been the one to leave the party early, only half-cut when everyone else is already gunned. I guess I could just say I'm responsible. But I think there's more to it than that. I think I'm genuinely a party pooper. I think, sometimes, I just don't find drinking and partying and late nights fun.
You know what is fun, though? Costume parties at a decent hour! Sangria on a patio with friends (I did that last night instead of Halloween in July and managed to be home well before my bed time). Board games. Picnics. Bonfires. Reading in the sun. Drinking tea, homemade lemonade or delicious cocktails (in moderation). Conversation. Live music. Dance parties. Pajama parties. Movies. Fishing. Craft nights. And the list goes on. And as it does, it continues to peel back what's left of my young lady cloak, revealing the old lady I really am.
I guess it's just time I accept it. I'm old. I might not be old in years, but I'm old in spirit and in practice. And I think that's OK. I don't have to be a party animal. I don't have to wake up with mid-week hangovers. I don't have to sacrifice my beauty sleep. And I sure as hell don't have to watch Jersey Shore like all the youngins out there. Nope. I'm an old lady and I'm about ready to accept and embrace that. Bring on the curlers, elastic waistlines and slippers.