Remember a few years back when you or one of your friends would fire off some reckless text message in the group chat on a Wednesday afternoon? It’d say something about hitting a bar to watch a meaningless regular season ball game and you’d happily oblige because it simply sounded fun.
You’d go to that bar, hardly watch any of the game you said you cared about, and then tie one on and head into work that Thursday morning with nothing more than a mild headache that some Advil could take care of.
And then one day it just sort of hits you. Not all at once but gradually over time. You’re no longer interested in going one hundred percent balls to the wall on an idle Wednesday or Thursday night because being hungover at work the next morning simply isn’t worth it.
You’ve reached a point in your life where you’re able to afford certain luxuries. A gym membership that you don’t use as often as you’d like. The ability to take your girlfriend out to dinner every so often. One or two nights out every weekend where you can buy the entire squadron a round and not really think twice about it the next morning. You’re not living a life a luxury, but you’ve got luxuries.
There isn’t a one of us who seeks out the label of being “washed.” Priorities and values just change. The focus goes in a different direction. It’s no longer a goal to get absolutely, one hundred percent shithoused during an evening out with friends and since when is that such a bad thing?
You’re past washed. You’re starched and dry-cleaned and you know it. Your friends know it. But isn’t that better than the alternative? The other option is that you’re inching closer to 30 every single day and still living your life like a 23-year-old a year or two removed from college.
Nobody wants to hang around a late-20s child. The fact that you’re washed isn’t a surrender or an admission of guilt so much as it is a point of pride. Something you can hang your hat on.
Tell your friend who wants you to step out tonight that you’re staying in getting some motherfucking takeout food. There’s no need to pussyfoot around and say something like “Yeah, for sure let me eat something and then I’ll meet you out.” Just straight up say NO. Being washed is all about enjoying shit. Relish in the fact that you’re staying in. Break out a nice bottle of red. Eat, drink, and be merry while you watch Indiana Jones or some god awful aliens documentary on Netflix.
Wear your washed up crown proud. Fly a flag outside of your home declaring “I’m Washed And I Know It.” Because the sooner you’re able to admit that you aren’t who you once were the sooner you’ll be able to live your life to the fullest.
It’s no longer about trying to make the party last until 5 or 6 in the morning. It’s not about seeing how many shots of rail tequila you can drink before you black out and text someone you shouldn’t.
Being washed is simply admitting that you’re too old for some things. You can still get drunk with your friends. You can still occasionally make an off-color joke that will offend some people. You just can’t do it as often.
The “washed” moniker is about moderation. It’s about keeping yourself in check and letting it rip once or twice a month instead of Friday-Sunday every weekend of the year.
Being washed isn’t something you need to hide. Let the people know that you’re about that washed life and you’re not afraid to show it. Stand up. Be heard. .
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