Last night I went clubbing. Yes, I really did. I didn’t mean to, it just happened. I think it was the visitors from out of town, who were ridiculously fun or possibly the jugs of cocktails but dancing seemed like a really good idea. I was having an outrageously good time and bulletproof, due to the aforementioned cocktails and the vodkas that kept materialising in my hand. Something about being out after midnight lets this magic occur. It only happens between 12 and 3am, when I’m usually asleep, so I generally miss the visits from the vodka fairy, but not last night. But alas, disaster struck. My body decided to remind me that I’m too old for bouncing up and down like a lunatic by letting my knee pop out of joint.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again, but it was totally worth it. Not only for the fun night, but also the bonus bragging rights at the crack of dawn kids’ soccer game, where I attained serious cred for crashing out (literally) in a gay bar in the early hours of the morning and still showing up with the half-time oranges.