|2016 (wine night face-big smile & crazy eyes) 1996|
Age 37= Normally spend 41 minutes getting ready. If I'm lucky I get out the house wearing both lip gloss and perfume. To turn me from jogging bottom mum mode to spruced up boogie mode I put my bedside radio on. Mindful to keep it low in the hope my location remained undetected. Two minutes later my youngest enters the bathroom dragging my newly ironed jeans behind him. Upon spying my makeup bag he abandons the jeans and makes a grab for the mascara. I unwittingly think 'he'll not get in that', a second later he has black streaks down his cheeks. Taking back control of the mascara, he shows his annoyance by lifting up the toilet seat whilst keeping his eyes on me. "In one second I'm going to dip my hand in" he telepathically chuckles. So I now have one foot holding down the toilet seat, my makeup bag balanced on the sink tap and a disgruntled 19 month old swinging off the towel rail. Like an angel my husband appears, peace at last. My eldest then decides he must 'help me' get ready. Watching my every move intently he fires non stop questions; "Is that to make your face pink?" (Foundation & for the record it isn't pink) "Do men wear make up?" (Ermmm). He pleads to help so we settle on him applying my blusher, painting one of my toe nails and helping me into my skinny jeans. Laughing at me pulling them on he asks "are they tights?" "no they are just tight" "That's because of your big tummy" he casually observes. All done, I ask what he thinks. He gives me the thumbs up "You're more beautiful than a Dandelion..."
Age 17= Between 2-3 hours of beautifying, complaining about my face (hated my freakles), body (too skinny, no boobs), hair (no straighteners) and re beautifying. Trying on various outfits whilst singing along to a badly self-made mix tape from the previous Sunday charts. Telephoning friends to see what they are wearing. Mum picking up the phone downstairs to tell me to get off it-how rude! If parents in, head out. If parents out rummage through the drinks cabinet until find something that is open but relatively untouched. Replace amount taken with water.
Age 37= The plan was pre dinner G&T's, tapas at 9pm, maybe a drink afterwards, home by midnight ish (very civilised). The first two thirds of the evening went swimmingly. A warning sign that we were in danger of diverting from the civilised plan was perhaps when we ordered a second bottle of red wine (and there are only two of us drinking). 11.40pm our driver is ready for the off. Possibly not helped by me dropping a glass of red wine, cutting her foot and splattering her white shirt in the process. In full 'wine night'* mode I feel this is a terrible idea, the night is young and I feel totally wine, I mean fine. An hour and half later, more red wine has been consumed, unwanted advice dished out to the young, another red wine accident and we decide it's time for home. At this point the whole bar heaves a sigh of relief. A taxi is hailed. I spend the entire journey berating the driver for not wearing a seatbelt and then empty the consumed red wine and tapas on to the side of the road. Classy.
Age 17= Drinking, dancing, bit of snogging (if your lucky) with chips, gravy and possibly a sausage to finish the night ;)
Age 37= Open one eye at 6.10am, unable to speak, move and barely think. Wake again around 8.30am to my eldest shouting "Dad!!!! Ellis is eating the shell" Ascertain they are having dippy eggs. Feel guilty about being hungover. Lie in a state of blurrghhhh trying to piece everything together, cringing at the intermittent flashbacks. What happened to the no alcohol after midnight idea? Swear I'll never drink that much again. Feel guilty all day about everything I haven't done in my state of shittyness. When bedtime arrives I feel so proud that I made it through the day (well half of it). Wednesday morning and all is finally well.
Age 17= Sleep till whenever, get up and get ready to do it all again. Hangover? What hangover?
So 37 v 17? There's no denying I had an absolute blast at 17. However, as much as I love the occasional crazy 'wine night'* the nearest thing I'll be getting to wine this weekend will be gums. My eldest is uncontrollably excited as he's been given full access to my face and make up bag. Pizza night with Honey I blew up the Kid is scheduled and I couldn't be more content.
*BTW I'm not a total pisshead. My wine nights happen probably around 2-3 times a year. My friends say it is like Russian Roulette as to who lands on them but I know they secretly love it.