I don’t want to scare any younger readers but I’m going to let you in on a little spoiler alert. As well as a freakish amount of chin hairs and the occasional wrinkle, there’s something that happens somewhere a few years either side of your 30th birthday.
You start to think, or rather come to the realisation, that going out and getting bladdered every weekend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. What??! What?? I should just wash my mouth out with soap right? But swear down, one day, it’s gonna happen. Here’s some signs to look out for.
14 signs you’re ready to hang up your dancing shoes
1. You have plans to go out with your mates and they cancel, but wait, rather than being absolutely fuming that you’re gonna have to stay in and watch shite TV this weekend you’re actually feeling some other strange emotion.
Relief, it’s relief – with a generous helping of elation. Thank fuck for that – I’m fat and shattered actually now I think about it.
2. You’ll make plans to go for a ‘long overdue’ night out and get super excited all week planning what to wear and how you’re gonna have your hair and make up – you can practically taste the jagerbombs and nostalgia. But, oh dear, Saturday night rolls around and what’s that you feel?
Dread, it’s dread – tinged with utter apathy at the thought of doing anything other than sitting in your pyjamas eating a takeway. You can instantly think of 2542 reasons why you can’t go – spoiler, your mates are probably thinking the same.
3. All planned nights out are suddenly labelled as ‘long overdue’
4. You prefer going for ‘chilled drinks’ mid-week (if at all) rather than fighting crowds of foetuses (when did they all get so young??) to get the bar on Friday and Saturday.
5. Your metabolism fucked off a few years ago and all you can think about is how much a night out is going to make you gain at this week’s weigh in.
6. Sunday’s hangover takeaway has become Saturday night’s main event and on Sundays you go for walks, or visit a castle or even just tackle 18 tons of washing – and you enjoy it! Not the washing obv.
7. If you do plan a night out you’d rather go to see some stand up, to a gig or – EVEN BETTER – for a meal. And you’re quite happy to just go home afterwards rather than roll in at 3.
8. Drugs are for mugs. The most your body can handle is an espresso martini and even that leaves you on edge and needing a sit down. And don’t even get me started on the phenomenon that is the three day hangover.
9. New bedding and pyjamas are so exciting.
10. You’re quite happy with your fella and the thought of going out and being chatted up by that handsome stranger (drunk minger with terrible breath) in the bar just doesn’t give you a thrill.
11. You quite like the getting ready bit and pre-drinks with the girls – applying a smoky eye is almost therapeutic – but by the time you’re all ready to call a taxi to go out, a part of you feels like calling a taxi to go home.
12. When you think of the nights out of your early twenties you feel a pang of longing, not that you wish you could have nights like them again (because you most certainly can, if you want to), but that you wish you could go on nights out like that again and actually enjoy them. Your tastes have just matured.
13. When you were a teenager on the park drinking whatever you could get your hands on out of your parents cupboards, or enjoying the dodgy club that had a lax approach to ID, you used to look forward to the days when you and your friends would have the money to go to fancy bars and have cocktails and glamorous parties. Now those days are here and the thought of sitting in the latest VIP bar with an overpriced martini has you pining for your sofa and Netflix subscription instead. Who knew that the days drinking blue WKD or white lightening on a swing would be the fondest memories of your drinking career? (NB: if you’re doing this after your teen years have a word with yourself).
14. If someone asks you to think of your ideal night you don’t immediately think of that time you met up with a stag do from Dubllin and matched the best man shot for shot with tequila. No, what you think of is a luxury bath bomb, your expensive scented candle (only gets lit for an hour once a week cos it cost £40), a new pair of pyjamas, fresh bedding and a Dominos.
Fuck that sounds good. Amma go do that RN.