He was confused at first, then realized it was a holiday. He said, “Hey, come out with me tonight. My friend’s performing.”
“I don’t know…” I thought about my 6am wake-up times with Celia.
“It’s the kind of thing where you don’t think you want to go, but then when you do, you’re so glad you did.”
“Let me think about it.”
When I got home Michelle said, “Go! I’ll take care of Celia in the morning.”
So I went. First time out late in over a year.
It was a trendy club, and both bands played a modern kind of techno-gypsy music. I was shocked to find such things in the middle of a city, but then again, it’s a pretty multi-cultural place. We danced till 1am to the gypsy version of Prince’s “Kiss” and a whole whack of songs in some unidentifiable language (although not to everyone, I observed, as people would shout out, “Oh! I love this song!”). I marveled at how much the night scene has changed since the last time I was out. Then I marveled at how much I’ve changed since the last time I was out.
We left while people had formed links with their arms and were kicking their legs out gypsy-style. Although I wanted to stay I thought that maybe, just maybe, I should listen to my body telling me how tired I was.
The next morning at 6:30am Celia woke up and Michelle had barely slept. Or at least, that’s what she said. So I took Celia for the next couple of hours. When I brought her up for a nap, I conked out and slept till noon.
I woke up groggily and thought, “This is why I don’t go out late anymore! I lose half my day!” I think my friend was right, that it was well worth it. So much fun! But my body is telling me, “Don’t do that very often!”
This is why people think parents are fuddy-duddies!