Wait ’til you’re 30, mister.
Aaron did not get home until 5 a.m. this morning. He went to a show with Neal last night and they went out afterward - and out after that.
I went to bed when he left, woke up at 2 unconcerned, and then at 4.15 wondering where the hell he was. I called. He was on his way to drop off Neal and then home. Neal was in the passenger seat yelling, “Tell her it’s not my fault. Not. My. Fault.” Shortly thereafter, he passed out.
I wasn’t irritated in the least - even if it was Neal’s fault. I just can’t imagine enjoying something enough to stay out that late any more. Midnight is a stretch for me these days. I used to do it quite often back in my roaring twenties. I even have witnesses. Molly…you got my back, right?
But now? Too old.
Perhaps that’s the thing. A is still in his twenties…for a few more months anyway. Once he hits the big three-o, it’ll be bed by 10 for everyone.
