Party Hearty? Hardly!

Remember the good old days when we all could party hearty? Now, middle-aged Handsome Hubby and I hardly ever party!

It’s not that we’re anti-social. It’s just that we’re pro-sleep and also, a little set — like concrete — in our routines.

Plus, right now, we’re addicted to our latest Amazon binge-worthy series, Bosch.  We’re only on season three of five. Night after night we’re parked in front of the TV. We can’t help ourselves. It’s one of those sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seat cop capers and, egads, it’s just been renewed for a sixth season! We’ll never get out of the house at this rate.

A Party Hearty Girl

Once my idea of a perfect night out ended with blueberry waffles at the House of Pancakes, just after sunrise. In between, I had a lot of PG-rated fun, eating fancy dinners, seeing shows, dancing, talking and laughing with friends, listening to music. Nothing (too) racy. But still all-nighters.

Now, however, I start yawning about 9 p.m. Sometimes (OK, oftentimes) I fall asleep on the family room couch. Handsome Hubby gets tired too — tired, that is, of explaining to me what I missed nodding off, while TV Det. Harry Bosch fights the bad guys. HH no longer deletes shows when he’s finished viewing them, knowing that I’ll sneak downstairs at some point to see what I missed!

Party Hearty Logistics 2020

When we do go “out on the town” like wild and crazy kids, you’d think we were planning for the Invasion of Normandy. The logistics of a trip into San Francisco from Berkeley, a distance of about 12 miles, are IMMENSE. First, should we drive? Too much traffic. Should we take the subway? So crowded. So dirty. Uber? So expensive. And again, the whole traffic ordeal. As the song goes, “Let’s call the whole thing off.”

Then, there’s that whole pesky “where to eat” conundrum. Vegan for him. Meat for me. It’s exhausting. And oops, we forgot to make a reservation two weeks in advance! Oh, well! House of Pancakes it is. Not quite as appealing as when you’re 19 or 20.

And, of course, there’s the ordeal of getting ready. When I was young, I agonized over what to wear. Was it a thin day? A fat day? A cute day? A not-so-cute day? A good hair day? A bad hair day?

What to Wear? What to Wear?

Nowadays those agonies and self-doubts have passed. Instead, grim realities have set in. (Better, no doubt, than the Grim Reaper stopping by, of course.) I don’t need to second-guess my weight or hair or judge my “cuteness.” I like or at least accept how I look.

That said, I still do make an effort at improvements around the edges. And man, do those efforts take a lot of effort! Make-up to de-red-ify my never-before ruddy skin, glop to de-frizz my frizzier-than-ever-frizzy hair, and cute jewelry to prove I’m still “got it” (whatever it is or was). And oh, yes. Spanx. Can’t forget the breath and movement restricting Spanx.

As for HH, his getting ready involves layering, lots and lots of layering. My once rugged outdoorsy guy has become a perpetual shiver machine. He is cold 24/7. When HH goes out, he wears a bulky sweater and a coat. No matter the season. No matter the temperature. In fact, Mark Twain’s purported statement that “the coldest summer I ever spent was in San Francisco” has become HH’s personal mantra!

Timing is Everything

Then, if we’re going to an event in San Francisco, what time will it end and how long will it take to get home? Important questions because HH needs an hour to take his evening medication before going to bed. He’s loath to take it until he’s home. So, an evening out in the “Big City” pushes bedtime back and also wake-time. And that’s a problem. As I said, it’s like planning the Invasion of (Geriatric) Normandy.

“Let’s call the whole thing off.” 🎶

One of my kids says we’re not “old and slow, just middle-aged and moving at middle speed.” Is that kind or just accurate?

What’s A Middle-Aged Muddler to Do?

All these complications make me think I need my mantra should be — a la Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz — “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

But wait, Dorothy had those ruby slippers. Now that’s the ticket! I’m going to find some magical slippers and then, good-bye traffic. Good-bye subway. Good-bye Uber. I’m off to see some theater. Then I won’t have to worry about what time I get home. (Most) late-night going-out problems solved! Just nudge me in the Second Act if I fall asleep. There’s a vicious rumor I snore!

And for the Grammarians in the House

Confused about the distinction between the terms, “party hearty” and “party hardy”? (I was.) Here is the answer straight from Merriam and Webster:

“Party hearty is the original idiom used to describe someone capable of partying for a long time and having fun. Soon after the phrase was coined, it was misheard as party hardy which implies the same thing. ‘Hearty’ itself refers to good health and ability, while ‘hardy’ implies a boldness or capability to withstand tough conditions.”