At the grand old age of 27, I’m finally coming to terms with the fact that my days of partying like a carefree teenager are over.
Now that my boyfriend have moved out of the city, nights out are logistically more difficult. When we go out together, someone usually ends up driving -that someone is usually me. If one of us goes out separately, it’s a case of an expensive solo taxi ride or begging the other half to pick you up past bedtime.
I complain to my boyfriend on a regular basis about my lack of party action. One of the reasons for leaving our central city flat was that didn’t go out regularly enough to justify the location. But any time that I’m stuck inside cooking dinner on a Saturday night, I’ll listen to Radio 1’s dance anthems and invariably get FOMO. Sometimes I feel like I’m running out of time to enjoy myself before I have to ‘properly’ settle down.
But I’ve never been known as a wild party animal and maybe I only want to go out because I think I should be. I LOVE to dance and I’m partial to a few cocktails, but I also associate bars and clubs with unwanted male attention and being jostled by sweaty drunk people while I’m trying to get down to Rihanna. I’m also not a big drinker due to a combined fear of hangovers and feeling out of control. My goals on a night out are catching up with friends and getting some dance action; other seem to go out with the sole aim of getting completely smashed. Not my idea of a good time.
Most of my friends go ‘out’ a lot less now anyway – they have busy lives, more responsibilities and less time for hangovers. With the expectation and excitement of a rare ‘big’night out, it seems to be easier to get carried away – and the night will end with someone in bed before midnight, drunken arguments and/or an exhaustingly long journey home.
So these days I’m learning to be content with casual nights at the pub – although if next year is anything like this one, there will be plenty of weddings and hen dos for me to get my party fix! #latetwenties!