Marvin and I are going to a party tonight, and here is how effing old we are. The other day I said, "My coworker (who is 27) is having a party Friday. Do you want to go?"
"Oh crap! I have a school thing till 8:00!" said Marvin.
Eight. He has a school thing till 8:00.
"The party doesn't even START till 9:00," I told him. "Did I mention this coworker is 27?"
"NINE?" said Marvin, like I said the party was incidentally in Finland. On an ice floe.
I did not tell him the part where the invitation says it ends at 6:00 A.M.! I told my coworker, Charlie, who is having this till-dawn shindig, that I usually hope my guests start wrapping it up about 10:30 at night.
Six a.m. Whatever with him. I mean, are there gonna be lines of coke as soon as we walk in? Are we all gonna plow his fields or something? Six a.m.
Not that I will know that they're there, the lines of coke, since I have never actually seen a line of coke in my life. I hope at least there's gonna be a coffee machine. Because I was wondering if it would be rude to bring my footie pajamas to change into at about 9:30, when I start to get that faraway look in my eye and twirl my hair distractedly.
You know, I used to be fun. I used to stay out all night. Nine at night was when I'd just be getting in the shower with my first glass of wine, cranking me the Pour Some Sugar on Mayyyyy. In the name of love.
Okay, I honest to God promise you I never once got ready to Pour Some Sugar on Me. (Mayyy) But this song was popular back when I was fun. And everyone in my hometown kind of looked like everyone in this video.
HERE is a song I love love loved back when I was fun. And my knee wasn't arthritic and I didn't have the Panama Canal between my rapidly graying eyebrows.
Oh, how can you be sad and listen to that song?
At any rate, we are going to have us a nice nap and some Sanka and get in the sedan and drive 17 mph down the center of the road and then we're gonna back that ass up. With the help of our bone-colored orthotic shoes. Till maybe 11:00! I know!
Call us Sid and Nancy.
Like, your Great-Uncle Sid and your Gramma Nancy.
