Party like... I’m 40
Ask her at 9am, and Amie Richardson is keen to go out. By lunchtime she’s not so sure. But she’s not old. She’s definitely not old.
There’s nothing like finding a new series on Netflix and spending a whole night watching it on your laptop in bed. So says my 40-year-old self.
My 20-year-old self would’ve rather gone out. Happy to start my weekend on a Wednesday night, I was incorrigible in my partying with an ability to start the morning at 6am no matter what time the night ended.
But 20 years later and life on the outside after 7pm takes effort. For a time between early widowhood and meeting my boyfriend, I was happy to make the effort, the grief sending me back to my teenage years. But now, it’s a lot of effort to go out. Mostly, too much effort.
It all changes about 2pm. At 9am I’m good, I’m keen as to go for a drink or movie or dinner. Come 11am, a little tickle starts in my throat and I start to compare takeaway options with having to put on make-up and talk to people. At 1pm I’m resentful that I have to talk to people I don’t really know when I’ve neglected my close friends for months. By 2pm, I have the takeaway menu onscreen and I’m texting the BF with an updated itinerary.
It’s not that I’m old, but going out makes me feel old. Not at the time. But the next morning when my calf muscles ache (what, why?) and my head hurts from one or two too many rosés and the kids are asking questions, questions, questions and I don’t know what I want to eat for dinner and I’ve got work to catch up on and I just want my mum to come and look after me and no one does. It’s then I feel like I’m either 100 years old, or 5. Either way, it’s the wrong age and I’m not happy.
But here I am on a Saturday night, off to a party (!), childless for the evening, wearing a new dress, makeup, hair done and the whole night ahead of me. My BF is here too, showing off his nice-boytatts and breaking out the dance moves. He’s convinced me we’re going to have fun and has dragged my sorry grumpy arse out for the night.
There are free cocktails, sensational food, artists, a barbershop quartet teaching us harmonies, a band playing country music and my favourite person there to touch my arm and make me laugh. It’s a great night. Hilarious, fun, with a few guffaws and awkward conversations thrown in the mix.
At 10.41pm, I’m back home.