So this last Saturday I went out with a few other couples to a really fun restaurant. It turns into a club and all the waiters are hot, music starts blaring around 10:30, they start dancing, co2 tanks start spraying, and beautiful people start dancing on their seats, on their tables.
And so did I. And I think Saturday night I finally figured out what separates me from the twenty-year olds.
-They wear crop tops, I wear crop tops, but I have to make sure there is just a sliver of skin showing for me, as my stomach crinkles because I decided I wanted three natural births. Moron!!
-They get up gracefully on their chairs, as if they are flying there, I wince, my knees hurt, and Scott had to help me up.
-Their men look at them adoringly, admiring every move, mine looks at me with a little fear in his eyes, and acts like the mean judge on So You Think You Can Dance.
-They all look like beautiful flawless Russian prostitutes who I imagine say stuff like, “you buy me bracelet now.” I look like I have an uneven tan because I can’t spread the tan towelette evenly on my back, and when I called Scott to help me he was playing a brain game on his phone and couldn’t be disturbed.
-They dance to Bon Jovi’s Living on a Prayer, and have no clue who they are, I am dancing with a strong memory of attending their concert where I gifted them my bra on stage.
-They are eating everything being served, wearing the tightest dresses ever, I eat a few fries and I look like a medical miracle of a 44 year old pregnant woman.
Mind you, I am literally making these comparisons as I dance on my chair. I am smiling through the pain of all of these revelations. And sure, I am having a great time, but I am self conscious. As we get up there in age, you being to ask yourself certain questions, “Am I too old to be dancing on the tables?” “Should I be wearing this?” “Does a Mom act like this?” “Is there a new episode of Rob and Chyna on tonight that I’m missing?”
I came to a conclusion that night. Although I am painfully aware that I am getting older, I’m going to keep dancing on the tables. Because the beauty of getting older is getting to the point that you can literally dance like no one is watching. I’m not hurting anyone, unless I lose my balance and fall on someone. And I’m good at never showing too much skin. Rule, boobs out, legs and belly covered. So whether it’s at a club, or I dance on the kitchen table because my kids didn’t hate something I cooked, the dance party of life will go on.
And I also decided I will study a new language and learn how to say. “You give me botox now!” in Russian.
And I will always dress the part. Check out my latest picks: