the birding frock

i remember, and not so long ago, when friday nights were all about the debauch. it would take everything i had just to make it to the end of the work day, so that i could rush home for a quick lie-down, to make up the face and rearrange my closet to find something of note to wear. the evenings would turn into nights filled with hazy smoke that would turn my voice raw and husky, cooled only by the extra cubes of ice i would ask for in my vodka & ginger. i’d greet the lazy daze of the morning with a staggered fall into bed and sleep until the day turned to its middle and i felt the guilt of the passing weekend flitting by.

now? my friday nights are spent fighting to stay awake past the 23oo, huddled in cozy corners with the apple of mine eye - our bellies full of dinners we couldn’t muster to make ourselves, talking quietly of the week that went by us, laughing about the week that waits before us and hoping that the weekend will bring with it walkabouts, lazy afternoons, and long drinks of coffee, just looking, holding hands and staring at the little bean of puppy we recently brought home to love.

the comparison between old and new is not possible, but the preference is glaringly obvious. and although it may seem staid and grown, there isn’t much more one could ask for, then falling sleepily into bed after a long week, beside that one person who you can’t wait to wake up beside - because it makes me feel that much younger than i did, way back when, i was falling asleep with only the sound of thumping bass in my ears and the smell of stale smoke keeping me company…