UPDATE: While I work on responding to all your comments, please check out my guest post over at Brookem’s site. It’s about MUSIC and that one time Brookem did tequila shots with Stevie Nicks.
Sunday night found me at the grocery store. Doing the sort of shopping I didn’t really need to do. The kind of shopping I do only when I am feeling very bored and sorry for myself because it’s Sunday NIGHT!, and my life no longer involves Sunday night keggers or spontaneous parties or Grey’s Anatomy (because I used to watch it when it was on Sundays. Back when it entertaining and didn’t make me want to shove my head down a garborater). And it’s currently not involving any Sunday night romps with a man who tells me he loves me while he attempts to braid my hair and wins any argument by covering my mouth with kisses. Sunday night is just the last whisper of a weekend that went by too soon, a reminder that Monday morning is almost here.
Sunday nights suck.
My basket was filled with juice boxes, some fruit, three packs of strawberry bubblicious bubblegum, enough magazines to paper mache a house- inside and out, when I heard three girls having the kind of discussion that my brain was born to listen in on. They were deeply involved in the kind of girl talk you can only have when you are nineteen and have just discovered how FABULOUS you are. A lot of “very’s” and “like’s” and “totally omigod”. There was a also a lot of:” I’m so excited for tonight!”
”Do you think he will be there tonight?”
“She’s such a ho.”
“Duh! Buy the biggest bag of Cheetos!”
“You are going to look so hot in that shirt!”
And my personal favorite:
“Do you think 7 two liters is enough mix for all three of us?”
I put down a box of cereal and smiled to myself. Because no amount of partying, no amount of first kiss butterflies, no squeals with friends while curling my hair would ever make me want to go back there. To the age of ignorance where I didn’t know drinking enough to float an ocean liner would result in me holding on to the bathroom floor with curled fingers, praying that death would take me out of my misery. Or at least cause the room to stop spinning like carousal on fast forward.
I left the store without buying mix or Cheetos. And I couldn’t have been happier.