This morning was rough enough without the Starbucks guy calling me "ma'am."
I'm usually a bit of a homebody and definitely an early-to-bed girl. Even on a Saturday night, I'm tucked in by eleven. But last night, I went with LostinTexas and her friend T to a Boy Band Sing-Along. It started at 9.45 p.m. A time at which I should be in bed, placing my bookmark, patting Rowen goodnight, turning off the lights, and cursing the elephants who live above me and lay in wait for me to turn off my lights so that they can start slamming every friggin door in their apartment and invite their clogging class over to practice. Instead, I was in a theater with a couple hundred other girls (and a few brave boys), singing along to NKOTB and Backstreet Boys. (And blowing my diet with sangria and cheese fries.)
It's been a long time since I've had that much fun.
Or stayed out that late. I got home around midnight, and of course was too wound up to go straight to bed, so I stayed up almost an hour longer, watching random television. (Staying up turned out to be a good move because at about 12.30, some woman started calling---loudly---for "Pumpkin," who I think is her cat. Had I been asleep when this happened, I would have been initially freaked and subsequently very annoyed. As it was, I was just really amused.)
So I'm feeling a little fuzzy this morning. My throat hurts from singing and cheering and my head hurts from everyone else singing and cheering and if I may offer a little advice: When moving, make sure you know where you packed your painkillers of choice. Because you really don't want to wake up one morning bleary eyed and sleep deprived with the rude realization that, despite the previous night's behavior, you are no longer 13 or even 23 and not know which box contains those precious pills. Particularly because you will not possess the dexterity to handle a knife to open those boxes. Or the wherewithal to search for more than 30 seconds before looking dolefully at your dog and asking her in all seriousness if she could run up the road for some Advil and Starbucks. And she will ignore you (smart puppy!).
But it was so worth it.
And I've got just under eight hours until a four-day weekend! I'm taking Monday off because . . . well, because I can.