A night on the town ain't what it used to be

We went out with The Cousins Saturday night. There were supposed to be two more cousins with us but they're all getting ready for this new baby they're incubatin' and seem to think finishing their house is more important than hanging out with the kinfolk. I remember those days, the nesting and the excitement. They're so young and cute and I'm so old and jaded.

When we were all kids, teenagers actually, Cousins Courtney and Benn came into the family and because we lived next door to each other we hung out together a lot. We played board games, we jumped on the trampoline (Well, they did, I believed myself to be above such shenanigans) and when I had gas in the car, we went on what we called Cousinly Bonding expeditions. Sometimes it was nothing more than driving around, sometimes we went to the park to act like juvenile dorks, and all the time it was fun and wonderful and I *heart* my cousins.

Now, Paul and I are the old fogies of The Cousins, him being 44 and me being 34. Actually I think Chad is 34, too, but he acts way younger than me. Having kids will age a woman. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Anyway, dinner was great, we stayed at the restaurant for over 2 hours, visiting and laughing and catching up. The band we were going to see didn't start till 9 so we went to Buffalo Run to kill some time. Courtney and Chad announced they were going home and we begged, pleaded and all but grovelled that they go with us to the bar. They relented, but said they had to go home to switch cars. Tater had to go see a man about a horse in the casino, so Paul and I headed for the bar.

This bar is a real high class place and by "high class" I mean, this place is a dive. It was flooded and just recently reopened. And it is apparent that they didn't want to displace the gazillion mosquitoes that have taken up residence INSIDE the bar. We waited in the parking lot for the others to show up because I just knew that I was going to feel fat the second I stepped through the door. Man, was I right. Most of the time I am comfortable with who I am, but not in a crowd of drunk, rowdy single people. Then I am just the old married lady who has let herself go. When we picked up the kids at Mom's I said, "If I ever, God forbid, find myself single I will rot inside my house rather than go out and do the bar scene." And I mean that. I am strong, but I aint' that strong.

The gal taking money at the door looked stoned out of her mind. There were about 10 people inside the place when we got there, so we had our pick of tables and Tater got us one right up the band's hoohahs. Now, normally this would be a good thing, except this meant that all the people sitting behind us got to just see my gigantic booty hanging uncomfortably off of my barstool all night long. Also, my legs are just the wrong length to sit comfortably on a barstool. They don't perch well on the lowest rung because my legs are a bit too short, but I'm too chunky to perch them up on the higher rung. So I instead let my legs dangle. Which in turn made my feet swell.

See? I'm old. Some friends of Tater's showed up later and Kara leaned over and asked if I was having fun. I shouted back, "Not really. My pacemaker is acting up, I've had to turn my hearing aid down twice, my feet are swelling and these varicose veins will be the death of me yet!" She nearly fell off her barstool laughing at my old self. She's all of like 20. She thinks I'm funny and I think she'll someday be old like me and I think that's funny.

It's no secret that I am quite fond of curse words, the f-bomb in particular. I like me some good expletives, but I guess I was just feeling particularly out-of-touch Saturday night. When the chorus of one song said something about waiting for a ride in a bar on a hill and something about how he "crashed her effing car" and walked away from that piece of sh*t or something like that, I guess I was making a face because Cousin Courtney shouted over the din of drunk people singing, "Priceless! The look on your face is PRICELESS!" I may have looked a bit puckered.

The music was so loud, as were the drunks surrounding us, so most conversation was yelled at the other person, unless you wanted to lean your head down so they could shout a little quieter instead. Or you resorted to hand signs. Tater was trying to tell me something and I couldn't make anything out, I didn't understand a thing she was trying to get across, so I did the only sign I could think of at the time - Jesus. Kara nearly fell off her barstool again. So did Tater. I did the sign for Jesus all over the table, then made the sign of the cross for good measure, then bid them all a good night.

Leave 'em laughing, I always say. Well, that's what I say when I'm not complaining about my gout, heartburn and bunions.