For as long as I remember, the anticipation of a Friday night filled my whole week. By noon on Friday, I was a quivering mess from the excitement of Friday night!
Back in high school, that meant driving around endlessly, flirting with boys, sneaking a few drinks, dragging Main Street* until it was time to go home. We’d repeat it through high school and early college. Our parents did it. It was weekend entertainment in Hays, America.
When I moved to ChiBurbia, Friday night meant happy hour after a long week of working. Again, it included flirting with boys (OK, men!), drinking, and then dancing our asses off all night long. Friday night was an endless aerobics class as we shook and shimmied. Mostly it was a group of girls dancing, but it didn’t matter.
Always there was that swell of anticipation that built all through Friday. By mid afternoon Friday, the young people in the office started talking about what we were doing that night. Go home? Read? Watch tv? Why? We were young and unattached! We had to drink and dance and flirt.
As I got older, I noticed the anticipation waning. It was a slow process, but there came the week when I didn’t feel like going out. By that time I had kids and was exhausted from working all week and taking care of them. Friday night meant I could crawl into bed (with or without kids) and watch old movies on tv.
Sometimes I miss that feeling. I want to want to go dance my ass off again. But now I don’t really know the music, most of my friends are married women who are tired like me, and I’m sure my inflammatory arthritis has cut down on my graceful dancing style. Still…I’d like that excitement once again.
Crap, I guess this means I am officially old because I’m yearning for the good old days…
*Dragging Main deserves it very own post to come soon!