When I was a teenager, I couldn’t wait to get out of the house and go somewhere, anywhere. I tried on fourteen different outfits. I fiddled with my hair. I put on make up. I thought about who I might talk to, what I would say, hoped there’d be dancing. I wanted to hang out with my friends, to meet someone new, to flirt.
When did pre-party anticipation turn into pre-party dread?
Now, it’s a struggle to leave the comfortable confines of my cave. Getting dressed up seems like so much work. Should I drink? Not drink? What shall I bring? Snacks? Dessert? Unthinkable to show up empty-handed! What if nobody eats it? Do I dare dance without my husband? Is that allowed?
What ever happened to just showing up and expecting to have fun? I swear, I am going to dedicate the rest of my life to remembering how that works. There’s too much seriousness in this world. It’s time to par-tay!
Here is the progression of this painting:
Dance without your husband!
Well, all right then!