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Take it from a real life 30-year-old like me: your youth is fleeting. It’s over before you even know it. I’m not kidding. This may sound like the jaded musings of a guy who’s watched his prime fly by. It seems like that first college friend’s wedding at 23 happened last weekend. Back then, the only thing that mattered was how many Rumpleminz and cab rides I could squeeze out of each paycheck.
Life is a bit more complicated now. Friends are busy, mortgages and rent need paying, people my age have kids in goddamn kindergarten. Actual responsibilities. The toughest part about growing up is making the time. Making the time to workout, make a healthy dinner, save money, read, date, manage a career, drink enough water, and also, get absolutely hammered on the weekend.
I enjoy my life as a single bachelor in the twilight of his youth, but each weekend seems like Groundhog Day. You’ll go grab dinner with a couple of friends after golf, hit the bars, in bed before 2 a.m.
But some nights, some nights it all comes together and the universe reveals something that you thought had been swallowed whole by the sands of time. Yes, those times when your married friends want to hit the town.
The sheer bliss of these nights cannot be understated. You used to paint the town with these people. You knew both of them before they started dating, and man, could they ever tie one on.
They come out of their shells, They might refuse that first shot, but there’s that twinkle in their eye, that twinkle says “Hello, my old friend. I really shouldn’t, but also, I really should.”
Maybe that song from Spring Break ‘08 comes on. It’s been a long time since she squeezed into those Apple Bottom Jeans and he hasn’t worn Hollister since Obama’s first term, but the feeling is all the same. It’s time to throw the fuck down.
Their demureness wears off quickly and the shitshow is underway. Yes, I have succeeded in my mission. I have corrupted you. Brought you down to my level. You are in the cruel dungeon known as the bar scene, and I have the keys. Ordinarily, the two of you would be on your fourth episode of Chopped and halfway through a bottle of Kendall Jackson. Instead, I have them in my clutches, both of them asking to bum heaters on two separate occasions hoping their partner doesn’t see them partaking in a vice they haven’t been known to indulge in well over a half decade.
This is like watching Arnold Palmer tee off at Augusta. The glory may have faded, but you can still see the skill they once possessed. They’re back in the game. You’ll ask if they want to go to another bar and they pull out the Trivago app and book a hotel since the price and hassle of an Uber back out to the ‘burbs alone would cost more than one night at a Marriott plus room service. Game on.
It’s just like old times. Holy shit, she’s grinding up on him at the bar. It’s amazing to see the spark these two still have, even if it’s been fueled by the tinder of Jameson and vodka sodas.
Time is running out, though. Can they still hack it? Fuck yeah, they can. They’re off the leash, having the time of their life. God, this is like getting into a time machine. She’s really drunk, but so is he. It’s only a matter of time until they Irish Goodbye the hell out of this joint.
No way! They’re actually saying goodbye! Actual manners. Years of engagement parties, bridal and baby showers, dinner with adults and other formal party settings have trained them to be cordial guests. No doubt they’re not this hammered at gender reveal parties. This is special.
They’ll leave you with ample time to go hit on some 24-year-olds and convince them you’re not someone’s dad. Drink in this moment until your cup runneth over. You may not see them for another six months, swallowed up by the exclusive society of married folk, where you are an outcast. No matter. All that matters is this moment on this special night.
The night comes to an end. It’s all over. It’s done. They’re gone. You’ll only see them on Facebook from now on, but you shared a sacred bond. Broke down the barriers between singledom and wedlock. Be proud. Be very proud.
You’ll wake up to a text from them at 7 a.m. the next morning, endlessly thanking you for such a fun night. It really doesn’t get much better.
Some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. .
Image via YouTube