Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Yep, still old

MFC will be going to a weekend-long house-party thing in the South West in a few weeks. I was invited too, but quite frankly, I would rather have a triple Brazilian and roll around in salt before sharing a house and bathrooms with thirteen other people. And some of them will be vegans, heaven help me. Loud, militant vegans.

I don't know when I became this fussy--perhaps I've always been this way. If it were me and five or six close girl friends (and that would never happen, because I have only two close girlfriends), fine. But to share a house with acquaintances that I don't have very much in common with sounds like the twelfth level of hell.

Oh, and also, being the only sober person at a party sucks. Big time.

So imagine being the only sober person at a four-day-weekend house party. I'd have to bring razorblades and morphine (for myself. The drunks can get their own damn morphine.)

When I leave my house, I need a nice, comfy bed. I need a clean, private bathroom. I need quiet at night and the ability to avoid people I don't like, because I'm too passive-aggressive to be rude to their faces.

What I don't need is drunk, screaming people dancing provocatively to loud music, loudly berating non-vegans for their brutality etc., while I sit there with my soft drink and bacon sandwich, gritting my teeth and wishing I was dead.

MFC is fine in these situations. He's a boy, so he doesn't particularly care as long as he has beer, his toothbrush and his sleeping bag. He'll be having a grand old time with the other boys (whom he knows very well) and will get so sloshed he'll sleep like a baby.

Which is why he is going alone, and I am having a nice quiet weekend at home with my family and my drawings and my books and a Sunday buffet breakfast with an old friend.

Sigh, I am officially an old party-pooping grandma.