When I was deep in the trenches of the early child-rearing years, and perhaps once again through sons’ teenage turbulence, I longingly yearned for quick acceleration to the “easy years.” Certainly in one’s forties or fifties, life would be less stressful. Kids would be grown and gone, money problems eased, professional life set … May I just say, from the perspective of fifty-five, hahahahahaha!
Earlier this week, hubs and I were awake, talking at 2 a.m., discussing a myriad of trying and disconcerting issues. We finally came to the realization there are no “easy” years. This is life. Fabulous and awful, filled with agony, ecstasy and everything in between. The best we can wish for is someone to love, a great sense of humor, and the ability to see more sun than clouds.
But, I think, another thing everyone needs is one of those friends. The one who is the life of the party. The one who always makes you laugh, often while shaking your head. The one who reminds you that adulting is highly overrated. The one whose party pictures you sometimes hide from your adult children.
We are blessed with one of those friends. In fact, Son 2 precedes this person’s name with “The Legendary…” every time he speaks of him. We’ll just call him “TL” for the rest of the story.
TL has been a friend of Hubs since seventh grade. He has had a seat next to us on life’s rollercoaster for the majority of our years on earth. In fact, he is the reason I met Hubs in the first place, as he was dating my college roommate. We married, they married, and we four are still the best of friends.
Oh, TL has calmed a bit. We seldom get kicked out of places with him anymore. In fact, his wife now calls him “The Old Goat” as he sometimes actually has to be (very minimally) talked into new and different adventures.
But the Old Goat still, at times, gets a wild hair and can be quite rambunctious. We are spending the upcoming Mardi Gras weekend with him, as I can’t think of a better person to accompany us in this debauchery. But I must confess, we do have an ulterior motive.
You see, Hubs and I belong to a club where we really don’t belong. We found ourselves members for two reasons; the main being that Hub’s old tennis club was bought out by this fancier establishment, and they offered a really good deal. Also, we joined for nostalgia. My dad was a member for over fifty years; we held many family gatherings there, even our wedding reception (where TL and Mrs. TL were best man and bridesmaid, of course.)
Now we have decided this club doesn’t really fit our needs, our pocketbook or our future. We are planning on quitting. So …
For this Mardi Gras weekend, we have reserved two overnight rooms at the downtown club, one for Mr. and Mrs. TL, one for us. In the back of our minds, we are kind of hoping that TL somehow reverts back to his youth and gets us kicked out of the club for some form of unseemly behavior. With two nights, we are giving him not one chance, but two! Then we won’t have to quit, problem solved.
And as Groucho Marx stated, “I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.”
I’ll keep you posted.