So anyway, I went to a nightclub recently. I know! It felt like something so deeply etched into my past, that I wanted to refer to it as the 'discotheque'.
I got so carried away by nostalgia for a life lived long ago, that I found myself even reaching for a cigarette. And had it not been for the fact that the best I could get my hands on was a Winnie Blue, I may have actually smoked it (and no doubt vomited five minutes later). My body has been a nicotine-free temple for many many years ... probably best to leave it that way!
There was a band, my boyfriend, a nice cold beer in my hand, lots of people making merry, and no missed calls from the home front on my mobile. Perfect conditions for an hour or two of fun, shaking our tail-feather and gossiping about the dance floor. Just like the good old days!
The trip down memory lane continued right into the toilet. I closed the cubicle door and read signage about up and coming events at 'the nightclub' with interest (and a deep-seated understanding that I would in no way attend). I looked at the dirty floor and smiled fondly, thinking of all the filthy nightclub toilets I had ever been into (not sure when this became a pleasant memory, but I think it has).
Considering that using any public toilet for me now generally involves bringing my small companion, and that she will invariably open the toilet door after she has finished (but I have not) as she is bored; dirty old nightclub toilets with no toilet paper look pretty good.
Oh how the years can change perspective!
In sum: it hasn't been that long in the scheme of things, but we have turned into the couple who seem to have a disproportionate amount of fun (and drinks) to the event itself. The reason being: don't get out that much anymore!
People of this ilk used to completely mystify me. Why were they so drunk? Why were they having so much fun? Why were they dancing to that shit song? The answer: because they have to.
You never know when your next discotheque is going to roll into down!
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