the weather saturday night was perfect.
a cool breeze. an invitation to play.
so i decided to do something i never do.
go to a party. at a hotel. downtown.
i had on black shorts, a denim shirt, ratty boots, and not a stitch of makeup on my face, but for my bright pink lipstick. i was not really dressed to go out, but i didn't mind.
i got off the one train and headed in the direction of my friends. and it was there, walking west somewhere on 18th street, that i had this revolutionary thought: i am young. i am single. god, there's nowhere better in the world than new york city for a night like this. i should do this more often. i should be young and sow my oats and do ludicrous things that will make for a great late-in-life memoir.
i thought back to my first year of college. i had a group of girlfriends that went out every weekend and did things that i cringe thinking about now. we danced on the banquettes of high-falutin downtown clubs. allowed investment bankers to buy us exorbitantly priced bottles of vodka. ran through the streets barefoot. stayed out until 5 am. it was a time when smiles far outweighed the need for ids to get into bars.
perhaps that is a time i should return to. perhaps with a little age and slightly bigger breasts i'd have even more fun.
so i got to the hotel. met a few friends. and inquired as to how to get into the private party. i was promptly shown the line. the very long line, stretched around the corner. the line comprised almost entirely of girls wearing the customary saturday night uniform of black heels, black tights and very short black skirts. and lots of makeup. did i mention that i wasn't really wearing any makeup?
and pop went the bubble.
i don't want to go back to my first year of college. wiser or not.
god i'm thankful to be young and single, but i sure as hell have to find a better way to spend my saturday nights.
don't get me wrong, i'm still gonna sow some oats, but in a slightly different setting.
