…to go and play a few games of pool with the kid and his buddy.
Since I’ve been cooped up in the house forever, thought that it might be a good idea to just go out and do something communal.
Apparently, if you’re older than 10, you’re not allowed to go out at night. Especially not on a weekend night. Because weekends belong to rugrats.
They swarm. Like locusts. Covering every available surface, plastering their drunk bodies over every chair, little girls hanging across their boyfriends, giggling – irritating.
So, either you suck it up and enter jovially into the fray, and tell yourself that it keeps you young to mingle with the under 10 crowd, or you go home.
Either you swallow your irritation and stand in line with the hope that you might eventually get to play a few games, or you go home.
Under no circumstances are you able to voice your irritation with them – you’re just an old fogie, and should go home.
You can’t shove the little dears out the way, or kick their legs from under them, or spill your drink on them – royal game and all that.
Since kids these days don’t need to be disciplined – they’re perfect. It’s their right to go out and be young.
And so it is.
You are only young once. Only for a while in your life can you enjoy endless hours of drinking and fornicating.
And old fogies have no place in that particular rite of passage.
Which is my point exactly. I have absolutely no wish to spend any evening with other people’s drunken, misbehaving kids. I can only do my own kids for a limited time, so I can’t see myself mingling with other people’s kids.
Alas. Just because I have grey hair does not mean that I only want to go to the theatre or a sedate movie.
I also want to have a few drinks on occasion without the worry of kids pointing and laughing. I also want to jig across the dance floor. I also want to play a game of pool.
But there are no places for me to do that.
I am opting to stay at home. Rather irritate myself with cabin fever than mutilate a snotty rugrat.