I wrote in my last post about how people see us depends on how and what context they have met us in. This was triggered by a friend of mine calling me…oh God I don’t think I can write it. Wait a minute, take a deep breath…’sensible.’ I was shocked, indignant, mortified and a little bit miffed that such a word could be used to describe myself. Then I realised that this was because she had only known me since I had my children. She has only known me as a… oh no this is hard to write as well…a middle-aged woman. She had never known me in my hell-raising youth. Actually, I never was a hell-raiser but we all like to dream a little, don’t we.
On Friday, I went out to a restaurant with some old friends who did know me in my slightly reckless youth. I did think about asking them how they saw me, but thought better of it. I had visions of them saying, “Well, you were fun once but now you’re a bit boring and sensible. Actually, to be fair, you were never that much fun when you were young.” Instead, what I did was drink copious amounts of wine with them.
Now this was fun. This was great. I no longer felt middle-aged and sensible. I slackened the reins a little bit. I didn’t let go of them completely. I didn’t dance on the tables or end-up laid on the pavement outside or throw-up all down myself and have to walk home in my bare-feet as my shoes were full of sick. I didn’t do any of these things nor have I ever. Honest.
What I did do instead was go home roaring drunk, fall over in the hallway for no apparent reason (I still have the bruises to prove it), throw-up and spend the night asleep on the bathroom floor. This is where I awoke on Saturday morning when one of my daughters came to use the toilet. She didn’t even ask me what I was doing there which, now I come to think of it, is slightly odd. I staggered up, peeled the contact lenses off my eyes and tried to walk. This was a major problem. It seemed that sometime in the past twelve hours I had lost all of my co-ordination. And my dignity.
It is now Wednesday and I still don’t feel right. If someone where to put a glass of wine in front of me right here and now, I would be sick. Why on earth did I get myself into such a state? I knew what the consequences would be. Perhaps, it was the comment about being ‘sensible.’ Maybe, it was because one of my friends just kept ordering more wine and it would have been rude not to drink it. I don’t know. What I do know is that being seen as ‘sensible’ now doesn’t seem as bad as before.