As a former sailor, I should be ashamed to say that I can’t drink much anymore. I don’t have the tolerance after so many years of moderate drinking.
I don’t have many opportunities for party-going now that I’m a single middle-aged woman. Many of the people I know in my age group aren’t going to parties or bars anymore. I have to hope that I’ll be invited for the occasional holiday barbeque, birthday party or wedding. Going to a bar is usually boring unless a good band is playing or I can have good conversation with a friend while at the bar.
When I’m at a party, I need a drink or two to loosen up and enjoy myself. But I won’t overdo it. My natural klutziness is enough to make everyone think I’ve been drinking when I’m actually sober. A couple of drinks makes me chatty but not too annoying. It takes a lot of alcohol to encourage me onto the dance floor. No one should drink that much.
When I’m having a good time, I hate going directly home after the party. I’d prefer going out after a party to a diner to continue socializing long after the party has ended.
I’m not sure what’s happening at my house when I arrive home from a party and see three angelic puss faces waiting for me. I know Alex, Simon and Sofia are putting on an act because the house is not as I left it. Either they are allowing strangers in the house or they are inviting their friends and catnip dealer over for a party while I’m gone. Alex has cancer so I don’t mind him dabbling in medical pot but the pretense is just too much for me. Their innocent faces don’t fool me.
I think it’s time to install a kitty cam to get evidence of what is happening in my house while I’m out. Perhaps then I can learn what it’s like to be a true party animal.