In a moment of intellectual weakness, I recently indulged in watching the first Hangover movie to forget about adult life by watching other adults completely ruin theirs. I have been to Vegas in the past, and while I enjoyed my brief time there, I am sad to say I didn’t wake up with Mike Tyson’s tiger in my bathroom.
A few days later, I sat for lunch with a couple of friends, and as the wine began to take over, we stopped to appreciate our levels of freedom, and the fact that as single ladies with no kids, we could literally pick up our things right now and go to Vegas.
In fact, we could stay for two months if we so pleased, we could do whatever the hell we wanted over there, we could gamble away our money because we worked for it and owe nothing to nobody, and we could hire all the strippers we wanted, and we could party party party all night long!
It took a moment of silence to realise that while we could certainly do all these things, it sounded like a horrible idea.
“We don’t like to party party party,” one friend said.
“This is true,” I admitted.
“And we don’t like to gamble, and if we want to watch a show we can watch it here, and if we want to see a bunch of shit-faced dickheads looking for hookers, we could also see them here,” I added.
“Exactly. Instead, we like to do this,” said my friend, pointing at our table and surroundings.
By this, she means of course sitting by the water in the sun over a boozy lunch. There is food to share, there is music, there are other people to observe and most importantly, there are alcoholic beverages of which some are pink and sparkle.
Yes, we officially calmed down a notch, I thought. But it is because we had those party times and frankly, we are just over it. And I’m finally ok with it!
So we quickly moved away from planning a getaway that would be filled with depressing gambling addicts, mild sexual harassment by Bachelor party crowds and vomiting at Caesar’s Palace.
Instead, we dreamed of places we could go to where some handsome young men would serve us beverages by the ocean and massage us while we fabulously enjoy the sun. We would then have naps and repeat this at dinner time.
And why pay for chewed-up strippers in Vegas if you could be sipping a Mojito somewhere in the Caribbean while observing beachgoers smear coconut oil all over themselves right in front of you?
We are women for God’s sake. If you smile and wave at said oiled-up beachgoer, they’ll come over and try to entertain you with pick-up lines, drinks and compliments, maybe even flexing their muscles to impress, so that’s a wonderful show to enjoy.
In short, calming down is awesome – it’s the classier version of the younger you. And from what I imagine, it smells of coconuts and tastes of Caribbean rum.