I went to a party this weekend. In London. Not only have I not said those words since about 1986, but the decadence involved of dumping one’s children, getting on a plane and booking into a hotel – alone – with one’s husband to do something as frivilous as….a party… seems beyond my realm of existence of late. But I just did. So go figure.
No children. No mum. Just hubby and me. Did I mention we booked into a hotel?? Not that I had the faintest idea what to do at such a social event, but I was there.. in a sparkly top no less.
It was a friend’s 40th – and as I trawled through my university photos for some snaps to take with me, I stared in wonder at the girl in them and found myself asking – who was she? That 20 year old. Where is she now? For I don’t see her staring back at me in the mirror. She is young. Carefree. Eyes alight with anticipation and expectation. The only thing I’ve been expecting the last six years is babies, and the only thing I’ve anticipated is exhaustion.
But I went… with not just a little glimmer of anticipation and expectation in my eye (did I mention there was a hotel?) and you know what? I danced. I laughed. I remembered old friends and they remembered me. It’s Monday now, and I’m back on the treadmill but today I had a little tiny, itsy bitsy spring in my step. I think I found that girl… if only for a little while, if only for one night. But it’s enough to know she’s still in there somewhere…