Dreadful Nonsense

Last night Johnny came back to town, and what better way to celebrate his presence than to go out and drink an unintentionally large amount of beer, smoke far too much too quickly and end up in some weird after hours bar surrounded by children.

Smoking outside is losing its novelty. Particularly at the moment, when it's snowing. There is nothing more ridiculous than standing in the street, teeth chattering and body shivering so much it actually looks like you're dancing, desperately trying to sew Marlboro lights into the lining of your lungs just so you can get back inside to the warmth. And yet. We kept doing it. Over and over again. All four of us, in fact. It's quite monumentally idiotic. I've said it before, I'll say it again - I have to, and will, stop smoking. If the cancer doesn't get me, the pneumonia will.

I spent most of the day yesterday telling myself and anyone else who'd listen that I'd be home on the last bus, because to stay out last night would be a kind of madness even I'm not able for. I had neither the money nor the energy nor frankly the inclination for staying out last night plus and also there's the small matter of having to do my OU essay before Thursday's trip to London, and then there's the snow which is cold and therefore it's better to be in bed all tucked up watching your new Angel Season 5 DVD than to be wandering around town like a foole trying to contract the killer lurgy that's going about.

So naturally it was a surprise to no one when I found myself at one in the morning standing upstairs in a bar, still wearing the clothes I went to work in (there's nothing worse than getting drunk in work clothes). We chose that particular bar from three choices because (1) it's not a wanky members club, (2) it's not Spy Bar and (3) it was close and we were cold. That's the only justification I can give for the pure horror of us four ladies (Johnny had by that time taken Option 1, the wanky members club, and was probably dribbling on Girls Aloud's alouds by then) standing and letcherously staring at all the young, young boys.

Just staring, mind. No touching. I'm sure in some states of America, that kind of age gap is illegal. With the full awareness that I'm now starting to sound like my Granny, aren't all policemen and college students young these days? I don't remember looking that young. I don't remember the people around me looking that young. I'm sure at least one boy in my year used to shave on a semi-regular basis, and that we'd all at least started puberty. These children were galloping around looking like they'd just woken up from their afternoon naps and been congratulated by their mother's for having a dry day for a change. It was surreal.

The greatest entertainment about it, for all four of us, was the fact that now we're in our mid-to-late-20s we don't have the hang ups these poor children do about their appearance. We all have the confidence that comes from the realisation that we no longer give a damn what the rest of the room is thinking, and we all know there are bigger issues in life than worrying about the size of your arse. And we also know that confidence is an aphrodisiac, particularly to those younger boys whose only experience of women to that point come from those emails the rest of us delete from our spam folders. We spent the time there quite happily pointing out to each other that if we wanted, we could have any single boy in that room.

The funniest part of the night was when Little Sister Edel's friend decided to prove the point to us, and stood herself up from the stool and started casting her gaze brassily round the room. Within FIVE SECONDS - that was timed on a watch, and so is a scientific FACT - she had a boy almost literally drooling at her feet. It took her five seconds to pull. And all of us with hair pulled back, wearing the clothes we were in all day, shod in runners and not a scrap of makeup between us. I wish to God I'd known we had that power while in university.

(NB - it's important to note the time that this has been written and posted. I may well still be a bit drunk.)

This entry was posted on 22 February 2005 at 9:10 am. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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