...unless, of course, you're only wearing socks.
Those of you who know me well, know that I seldom go out. There was a time when I could party with the best of them (Allyson Crane, I know you're out there), but I'm pretty mellow now. Partying is usually getting together at a house full of kids and toys. Woohoo!
Every now and then, though, a girl is coerced into going out.
Maybe one of your best friends turns 30, so you put on an outfit that your husband finds mildly ridiculous (because you're getting dressed to please other women...and gay men) and you venture downtown.
And, maybe, you decide after half a drink, that you will not be driving home, and so you make plans to catch a cab with your friend, because you are a grown-up for f*ck's sake.
And, let's say, a few hours later you're still not drunk enough to have changed your mind about driving (thank goodness), but you are drunk enough that walking three miles home at 2 a.m. sounds good, but only after stopping at the local Winco to buy some cheap socks (because the mildly ridiculous kitten heels you are wearing are no longer, um, comfortable).
Yes, this happened to me last Friday. Yes, I am a grown-up (I'll be thirty-eight in April). Yes, I threw the socks away as soon as I got home.
And, yes, I would do it again, because it was great to hang out with you, Karli.
Happy Birthday and welcome to the Decade of Excellence!