As I sat sipping crappy, overpriced, warm white wine the hot but knuckleheaded bartender had, like, totally forgotten to refrigerate, I watched beautiful 20-somethings glide by making the very mistakes I made back when Clint Eastwood was sane. Honestly, it was almost quaint! And I realized: aging sucks, but at least you pick up a trick or two along with those broken dreams and rigidly unforgiving attitudes. Herewith, five reasons I am glad I am not in my 20s anymore.
1. I now know that spindly, soaring high heels are always a bad party-going idea and any sexiness I might feel at the beginning of the night can never, ever mitigate the agony I’ll feel at the end. And since no one is checking out an old biddy like me anyways – especially not with all those 20-ish babes teetering around in heels - wedges and flats make all the more sense.
2. The person I am currently speaking with is every bit as interesting – or uninteresting – as that other person I spy across the room. I don’t need to peer expectantly over shoulders or scan rooms anymore. I can relax.
3. Speaking of, it’s way better to have one good, reliable friend at your side – someone who will holler when something is stuck in your teeth – than to have a roomful of air-kissers who can make you feel momentarily golden but will stand down as your exit the loo with the hem of your skirt tucked in the top of your pantyhose. Plus, a friend will never let anyone else steal your seat when you go pee.
4. Smoking does not make you look cool. In fact, it makes you smell bad, yellows your teeth, and…what was that other thing… oh yes! It kills you. I cannot believe another generation has fallen for the evil smoking-is-cool hoax, especially given the gore-fest images now gracing those $10 packs. But judging by the number of young smokers I saw last night, it has. Swear to god I will vote for the first party that campaigns on a platform of making cigarette sales illegal, gargantuan tax revenue be damned. Even if it’s the PCs.
5. Mainstream tattoo culture had yet to take root. I know this doesn’t quite fit with this blog’s theme but damn I am thankful I didn’t face the kind of peer pressure that compels kids today to ink something completely idiotic on their skin. There is beautiful ink out there – I just rarely see it for all the butt-ugly shit cruising past on formerly pristine necks and ankles and shoulders. You know that stuff will still be there even when you’re as old as me, right? That ought to put it in perspective.