Last night I headed out for a girlie night with a fabulous bunch of friends.
We hit up this great Lebanese restaurant called the Mezza Grille and absolutely stuffed ourselves silly with all sorts of scrumptious Lebanese delights. I seriously had no idea just how good Lebanese food is and as of today, I am now completely obsessed with looking up recipes online that I can attempt to replicate at home.
It was one of those brilliant nights out where we just laughed and laughed ourselves silly. No topic was left untouched, and no details too personal to share. We drank copious amounts of wine, cheered on the gorgeous belly dancer, indulged in some peach and apple Hubbly Bubbly, drained a jug of Mango Gelato & Vodka cocktails, and threw back some Traditional Lebanese Liqueur shots. We even photographed each others fabulous cleavage. Why? I'm really not sure but it was hysterically funny at the time.
We were a bunch of Hot Mamas out to let our hair down and remind ourselves that we have a life outside of our children - at the very least for this night anyway. I recall a conversation where we had decided that we could convince the Producers of the Real Housewives that we should be the hot new Australian franchise of the series - the Real Housewives of the Northern Beaches. Now I am sure that many a group of woman on a night out have also come to the same conclusion that they are THE next big thing as far as the Real Housewives are concerned, but under the influence of this much fun, frivolity and alcohol, we were certain that WE were so it!
After entertaining our fellow diners with our hilarious antics, we all agreed the night was way too young for us to head home just yet. Giddy with freedom, we decided to head over to our local pub, the place where we all had spent endless nights pre-children, and indulge in a nightcap of Tequila. On a normal day (i.e. a sober day) the mere mention of tequila should have been enough of a warning that things could or would take a down hill turn from here. But glammed up and high on the intoxicating Middle Eastern atmosphere, we were absolutely positive that this would be the perfect way to round off the evening and so off we went.
The first hint of things to come occurred as we click clacked our way up the street to the Pub. We passed a group of young girls who were engrossed in a deep and meaningful discussion that went something like this;
Young Girl in spray on dress: "I was like really bummed at like how bossy you were like being with me tonight"
Young Girl with knickers showing: "Like I TO tally get it and I so like didn't mean to like hurt your feelings that way"
Young Girl in spray on dress: "I'm so happy that we like totally get each other" *HUG HUG*
As we continued walking past them the next snippet of conversation was LIKE totally directed at us: "You guys should be in bed now shouldn't you?"
Despite this we were determined to have our Tequila nightcap so we braved the line of young something under twenty year olds, and we even convinced (begged) the Doormen to ask us for ID. He was kind enough to oblige us, stamp our wrists (oh memories) and usher us inside. I think he wanted to just get us in and away from the street in case we scared off their younger more trendier crowd.
Inside we lined up at the bar and delightfully indulged in a Lick Sip Suck though it was more like a Lick Swig Gag. We ordered some more drinks and made our way through the throngs of near naked young groovers and plonked ourselves down at a table. We so stuck our like an afro on an albino in this place. After 10 minutes of being watched suspiciously by our fellow party goers, who for sure thought we were there to spy on our kids or something, we decided to head into the Public Bar. From memory, this was the area where the slightly more mature aged patron liked to hang out.
Walking in to the Public Bar we were quick to discover how times have a changed.
The way the young crowd held their drinks mid air in a stunned manner and the way they whispered and giggled amongst themselves, told us we were not going to blend in here either.
Despite all of this - we were determined to have fun. This was our place damn it (albeit twenty years ago). This was once OUR party paradise. So in the face of humiliation we kicked our heels up and showed those young divas & dudes how it was done. These skinny little nymphettes were poured into their minuscule dresses so tightly and tottering on heels that were so high they almost required oxygen masks. And the funny thing is, the closest they could get to dancing was a small sway of the hips and shimmy of the shoulders.
After half an hour of letting loose, we were ready to admit defeat and headed back out into the night in search of a taxi ride back to suburbia. Despite having a brilliant time we couldn't help but ask - When did we get too old to old to be at the Pub on a Saturday night? This never happened to Carrie and her gals in Sex and The City. They too were thirty something woman and every episode saw them fabulously flaunting it in nightclubs across the city.
Sadly I don't think Downtown Mona Vale and Manhattan have much in common.
When did I suddenly get so old?