In the words of Sgt. Murtaugh, “I’m too old for this shit.”
I am never drinking again. It’s been more than 24 hours and I still haven’t recovered. In my 20s I used to have a night like that, shake it off the next morning and start all over again. Now I have a night like that and I spend the next 12 hours curled up in the fetal position praying for someone to put an end to my misery.
But that’s not even the worst of it.
I’ve come to realize you can’t turn off being a parent. Even when you have a night to yourself and no parental responsibilities, your kids are always right there at the forefront of your mind. You see, I’m now one of the elder statesmen at these parties filled with unmarried 20-somethings and kidless people. And here I come, an old married man and father of one, pulling pictures of his child out of his wallet saying “LOOK AT MY KID, LOOK AT MY KID! ISN’T HE AWESOME?!”
Because that’s what all young people want to be reminded of while they’re carousing and enjoying their youth. Marriage and kids. I think some of the boyfriends of the girls at the party wanted to take me out back and shoot me. I don’t blame them.
But I’m not sad about it. I’m glad I spent Sunday night missing Will and staring at his picture in between glasses of Jim Beam & diet ginger ale (see that? still dieting even when I’m bombed!). After all, if I didn’t miss my son that’d be a problem. Not to mention one night of fun is no longer worth the trade off of 48 hours of cruel, hungover torture.
So it’s official. I am too old for this shit. Danny Glover was a wise man.