There are worse things than being single at thirty. There’s being married for nearly a decade and then being single at thirty. That’s worse. That’s much, much worse.
The idea started off rather innocently, a few drinks, yes, that’s what I needed. But where? That was the first question in a very long list. I suddenly felt like some sort of fraud in the middle of contemporary life. This must be how the Amish feel, I thought. Last I remember, you had the girls round about six, drank until eleven and then hit the town. The chat was all nail colour and the boy from last weekend that you really didn’t like much. Or the one from the few weeks before, that you did. Back then Bangor was acceptable. I’m not so sure of now, although, roll on a few years and my daughter will tell me (hell, please freeze over). Going out was like a part time job, luckily for me, it often was, I really was paid to do it. The rest of the time the regularity and time consumption of it made it feel like one. A great one. One you adored. It was a once, twice, three time weekly thing. Everyone arrived in their jammy bottoms, bags of cloths and make up slung over their shoulder and one, if not two bottles of wine in their hand. Gosh my parents were liberal, or in denial. One or the other. This was the life; it was what we ladies did - before I got married.
Not now, remember, this was all in the before. This was all I'd ever known.
When I got married everyone else was still casting their line and having a hell of a lot of fun with it. This went on for many, many years. This is still going on for some. But not me, I was happily setting up home, waddling my way from one pregnancy to the next in utter delight of the fact that I had found my man and the crazy days were over. Well, roll on eight years later…….i was in for a shock. And not just one, I was about to discover that nothing in the single world was the same. Not even close to it. Not in the slightest bit similar. And what’s more, I knew nothing about anything, starting with what to wear. Yep, that day had arrived, when I’d cleared through the debris that was my life, things that could be salvaged were popped back in their boxes for safe keeping, like my mentality for example, or my shoes, there was even dust beginning to settle (thank goodness for the dust, I need more of it), I was ready for a night out and what was ahead of me was like nothing I had ever experienced before.