I’m turning thirty one in a few days, and it’s totally fine. I’m going to be officially in my thirties and I have been really embracing life. I have actually felt great this past year – dropping a few pounds has given me the confidence boost I have desperately been needing for a while (maybe the Zoloft is helping, too). It is starting to feel like I am back to my free-spirited self that I thought had disappeared forever. Even though I am a mother of two energetic, wild, and drive-me-up-the-damn-wall little boys, most days I don’t feel like, or even consider myself, a full blown adult.
Until I found myself at the casino nightclub last night.
Why yes, I am actually a full blown, grown-ass adult.
Once we entered the club, the first stop we (my husband and friends) made was the bar that was located to the back of the dance floor. My husband orders me my usual glass of Riesling. The bartender replies with “we don’t have that.” So I ask for a glass of Moscato. Her response? “We don’t have wine.” Um. WHAT?! Already out of my element, now I was completely lost. So I asked for a bottle of Stella Artois, which worked. I was not in the mood for beer, but it was cold and wet.
We looked out onto the dance floor. It was pretty full. There were two gorgeous, mostly naked dancers shaking it up on platforms. A DJ was way up above the crowd playing something I honestly didn’t know, but I pretended to know it as we made our way out onto the dance floor. Completely out of his comfort zone, my husband turned into a stone statue. Wearing what I thought was a somewhat provocative getup (I happened to wear a thong for the first time in about a year), my outfit choice proved to be quite modest in comparison to the other girl’s butt cheeks and vaginas hanging out of their “dresses.” What I really mean is their long, tight shirts. I, myself, wore mom jeans. I saw couples dry humping in the midst of the people. There were small little groups of five or six guys dancing, doing the whip ney ney that I still have yet to learn. I kept thinking to myself how people-y it was.
It didn’t take very long for us to notice that we were indeed the oldest people out on the dance floor.
I used to go to the scary local club when I was in college, probably more often than I should have. This club had sticky railings and people having sex on the trashy velour couches. So naturally, I was one of the girls with the hot ass right smack in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by the desperate locals thrusting their junk in my direction. The first time I was there, I had no idea that this was a thing that guys actually did in public to try and get a girl. I was always smart enough to not go home with any of these fellows, though. Even though I used to attend this establishment, I knew deep down that my type of guy was not the type that went to sketchy nightclubs. But that was what we used to do and it was still fun. Back then, I had not a care in the world. I was a crazy young girl and felt damn near invincible. In fact, I was so much like some of the girls that were at the nightclub last night.
But I’m not that girl anymore. And I truly do not belong there anymore.
Last night, when the DJ started playing tracks that always blared through the gymnasium at my middle and high school dances, I was in my happy place. My small group of friends were also in their happy place. Everybody else that was dancing alongside us were probably still in diapers when I used to grind and shake my butt at the school dances. Which, good for them for liking some now-classic hits. But when I was dancing in my little happy place, I knew damn well that I looked like a mom struggling to hold onto her youth. If you looked really close, it was probably evident that I was trying my hardest not to pee my pants anytime I tried to “drop it low.” My dance moves were awkward AF and to be honest, zero fucks were given. None.
That’s the thing about being a full blown adult. You stop caring about the opinions of the world around you. Something happens where the pressure to fit in just gradually fades away. I care what my husband thinks of me. I care how my children think of me. They know and love that I am wild and young at heart. That I am me.
It’s not my place in life anymore to be out at the club, shaking my thing. From here on out, I will be sticking to my favorite little dive bars. I can have my own little dance parties wherever else the music may find me. Just watch out for my awesome mom dance moves.