I can often be heard moaning to my friends "What happened to us? When did we become so old? Why are we not having more fun, like we used to?"
I have found the answer. Fun, the stuff we remember fondly, happens after 7 pm. It is currently 9:30 pm on a Saturday night, and I am, no word of a lie, sitting in my basement, wearing a floor length pink flannel nightie. With flowers and lace on it. I also (yes, it gets worse) have on "moisture treatment" socks, filled with squishy petroleum jelly. My face has been scrubbed, toned, and night-time treatment is soaking in.
I think there might be hope for me, though. In honour of Saturday night, and all that it stands for, I have a dollop of Kahlua in my decaf. Let the party begin.