My evening with the gals was too much fun. Medical science is right: laughter is a cure-all. We ate, talked, played Dance Central on the XBox, and laughed some more.
So, I ask myself: why didn't my teenage self realize just how much fun being lame was? I had a blast and drank not a sip of alcohol nor smoked a single cigarette. I didn't have to put on tight clothes or extra makeup. I didn't have to spend any money on cover charges or get drinks spilled all over me while trying to walk to a crowded puke-reeking bathroom with stall doors that do not close. I didn't have to ward off advances of men old enough to be my father or with foul-smelling breath. I didn't have to make sure I had my cover story in case the bouncer didn't believe it was me on the fake ID. I didn't have to worry about finding my ride later only to discover she had left with the guy with the stink breath.
Maybe experiences like these were necessary for me to appreciate my life as it is now, but I really wish I wouldn't have had to go to all that trouble just to realize how absolutely lame it was being young. Being almost middle aged is a friggen' blast!
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