Three Old Hens at a Bar…

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Well, as my 30’s are rapidly winding down,
and I am soon to step across into the new frontier of being…that next age… it was only fitting that my fellow girlies also of
the same exceptional vintage,  wine and dine me.

After a lovely meal at Tastevin we crossed the road to Eau De Vie and did what we do best - drink $20 cocktails. What is it about a cocktail that is so appealing? The element of surprise? The artistry? The financial investment (there goes my grocery budget for the week)?

But whatever it is, when I hear the word cocktail… After consuming several, someone (me) had her dancing shoes on. Yep, I was in the mood to tear up a dancefloor and full of bravado we trotted to Sugar Reef, where in our early 20s, we had spent too many evenings/mornings to recollect. Of course, it’s no longer called Sugar Reef as one of the kids on the street informed me - hadn’t been called Sugar Reef for 20 years. How time flies.

Fronting up to the entrance with our “girlish” charm and best smiles we were given: “Ah sorry ladies,” from the rather inflated islander at the door, “we’re pretty full up tonight.” Really? You just let in that teenager wearing a handkerchief. Why don’t you just bloody say it? “You are all too old to be at this crappy nightclub. If you were at least 15 years younger wearing hotpants and falling over your stilettos, you’d be in like Flynn.” Ouch! It didn’t feel that long ago when I used to be at Sugar Reef every weekend – I practically grew up there before becoming the world’s biggest faghag and migrating to Arq. Thankfully we had 4 cocktails under our belt because that was a slap in the face. Turning on our heels, a guy of seemingly some authority emerged from whatever Sugar Reef is called now and said:”Ladies, ladies, come in ladies…no charge for the ladies” as he ushered us through. Well, it was if we had just been let into a private after party for One Direction - exciting! And teaming with young girls in various stages of
undress, boys who looked still to be at school and a DJ whose small pre-adolescent frame could barely be seen from behind the decks.
 Were we at a Bluelight disco? Maybe there was Absinthe in my cocktail because the last time I had seen so many youngsters on a dancefloor was at my Year 10 formal.

 Clearly, we were the oldest people there and dressed comparatively like Sunday school teachers, yet we still rocked it - dancing with our “hands in the air” to truly shocking dance music, having one of our handbags stolen (it’s not a night out in the Cross until you’ve had your bag pinched), and warding
of potential cubs who thought we were there for the express purpose of getting our cougar on – we laughed the whole way home! But not without the commentary: “I mean we never use to dress like that… I cannot remember leaving the house with all my bits on display. And the quality of music nowdays… we bloody invented dance-music!” Which brought to mind a quote from a hilarious old hairdresser I used to work with: ‘You shouldn’t dance in public when you’re over 30 because the moves have changed and no-one’s told you’.

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