This past Saturday night I hit up the club with my two favourite dancing boys (honestly, guys, it's like watching a show with you two sometimes - I love it) and stayed out late - a night complete with accidentally terrorizing the elderly in their homes, devouring Brie, rockin' it in wool socks at Metro and ending up at Koi.
The following Sunday morning, a mere four hours later, I was gussied up in my Sunday finest to attend Easter church with my family. With my headache pounding and the blasted sun shining through my shades, I was still in fine form, having mastered the switch. Although, my skills must be slipping, because while my parents went for tea and conversation after the service, I retreated to the car to wait out the nausea.It struck me halfway through the hymns that while I was singing by memory the words to "He Is Risen" and "Alleluia" that morning, I had been bustin' out a wicked version of "I Wanna F*#k You" and "Gold Digger" the night before. Huh.
All in all, my weekend had the best of both worlds. One included street meat and greasy 3am pizza and the other provided me with not one, but two, ham and scalloped potato dinners. Eating post-bar has a fend-for-yourself mentality - apparently Hamilton bar-adjacent restaurants run out of 'za. Or maybe they're just tired of dealing with drunks at 3:30 in the morning. Huh.
Eating at Grandma's also has that mentality though, since they manage to consume an entire meal in about 7 minutes flat. Before your fork is down, the table is cleared and dessert is plated in front of you. How do older people do that? What's the rush? After dinner, I realized what the rush is - the weather channel loop for their neighbourhood. If they miss it, they have to wait another 15 minutes.
Hey man, once you get to that age time becomes very precious. It's like a relative of my mum's said when she was in her "autumn" years ... "At my age I don't buy green bananas"
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