Then

The thrill of Saturday night, with all the promise of giddy lust and parading.  Planning outfits in my head for days.  Saving enough cash for drinks, and a secret taxi stash.  Phone calls to and fro to set times and places and double checking of outfits and who would get ready where, who would sleep where, who would do what with whom.  No thought of Sunday, other than to see her peek over the horizon if the night was a good one.

Now

Saturday night?  A night to be endured before the relief of Sunday- a whole day of our little family with beach and fresh juices and languid lunches.  Preferrably beers and footy on the couch, a few tunes, savour some air up on the top deck and then sweet blessed bed.  If we have to, we go out, but hopefully early.  So we can get home early.

Then

Hey, Hey It’s Saturday on your Mum’s donated telly and Barbie Doll shots of vodka & raspberry.  Three or four girls getting ready in one place, the bathroom humid with hairdryers and hairspray and perfumes intermingled.  Primping and parading and do I look fat in this?  Ice T or Frenzel Rhomb cranked up as loud as can be endured.  Salacious thoughts of what you might do to that guy from Chem Prac with the Rollins Band t-shirt and the celtic tatt, if he shows up.

Now

Funniest Home Videos on the flatscreen to keep the kids quiet whilst you squint to see if your bum looks too big, the clothes too ‘young’.  A shot of ristretto to keep you awake past 9pm and a fleeting thought of George Clooney in a suit, or even better, your own husband with his greying temples, that dips as soon as you see the dishes in the sink, your libido down the drain with the suds.  Michael Franti turned down low enough to give instructions to the babysitter.

Then

You head out as late as possible so you can hit the ground running.  A few quick pots of tap beer and then it’s onto the dance floor or the pool table, teetering on your heels, a sashaying walk.  Dancing and singing and dancing, pupils so big as to take up your whole eye, drinking in the lights, the boys, the night.  The night that blends seamlessly into tomorrow and you watch the sunrise, foggy brain registering the beauty.

Now

Meet at a friend’s place as early as possible to drink fancy champagne and craft beers, before you head out to a restaurant where a meal costs your (then) entire pay packet.  You comment on the quantity of the food and the quality of the service and whether or not the staff dote on you enough.  If you can convince the others you might be able to squeeze in a dance or two before it is curfew time, with the babysitter on an hourly rate.  Home for a few hours sleep before the kids wake up, and you watch the sunrise, foggy brain registering the beauty.

…From The Ashers xx