I guess I'm old, but I'd rather be baking.

So, the big party last night was largely a success. Fun was had by all, there was the requisite bar drama, I got to dance in my shiny new red shoes, and I saw three am stone cold sober.

 That in itself is worth mentioning. I haven't stayed up till three am since prior to the birth of my second child. And really not ever without being somewhat lubricated by a plethora of alcoholic beverages.
 
I don't remember clubs being so pushy-touchy-feely.

But there I was, in time for last call being knocked around by a bunch of really inebriated men fumbling all over themselves to manage to get a) beer, and b) someone to sleep with them in the next twelve minutes.

 The bouncers were four square against me observing from the balcony. Now that would have been fun. No, instead, it was rather like a grown up version of the ball pit at McDonald's...smelly, slimy, filled with questionable objects, and quasi-violent.

 Sober clubbing is rather awkward. Don't get me wrong, it was fun, and I'll probably be ready to do it again when my friend has a birthday again...next year.

 Give me a pub with a deep fryer and a large selection of beer for my husband to go nuts over. Give me a jazz club with a selection of wine that I can't pronounce. I'll point at the menu and pretend I know what you are talking about when you say, "hints of berry and chocolate."  Give me the blues club that used to hang out at my old bar. Those people knew how to party...and no one EVER copped a feel on the way through.

Give me a big bowl of bread dough to work with while my kids play happily within earshot.

 So I woke up old. Old and happy. I don't miss my club days...I like a place where I can have a conversation.  I like to have my husband with me so I feel safe. I like..my life, just the way it is.

So, Bethlehem, thanks for the entertainment, the bruising, and the reminder that my life is perfect, just the way it is. Grown up and everything.