Girls Night Out!

On Saturday my gal pal and I decided we were in dire need of a night on the town. She having recently suffered a break up, and me needing absolutely no excuse to dust off the dancing shoes and doll myself up.

Our first port of call was a birthday party in a suburb that shall not be mentioned by name. GP and I gate-crashed late, making a grand entrance with more than 2,5 litres of wine in hand (and about 500ml already consumed). Being the courteous and charming ladies we are, we were warmly welcomed and ushered to the bar whereupon we were handed two small wine glasses and our first bottle of wine uncorked. From there we made our way outside to sit (and drink) under the thatched gazebo.

Half a bottle of wine, two plates of chicken curry and many handfuls of crisps later we made our way back inside to the bar, lured by the promise of warmth that comes with dancing. We weren't on the dance floor for more than 15 minutes when the 'DJ' and I use that term very loosely, wa spinning records (figuratively of course) of tunes that we were unable to identity by either song title, artist or genre, When we couldn't even place the decade of said tune, we reaslised that it was our cue to make a disappearing act. And with that we grabbed out 1,5 bottles of wine off the bar and made a hasty retreat to our awaiting chariot, mumbling thanks of a delicious meal on our exit.

The night was young and so were we. After a few calls to various party PRO's we headed north to the capital of clubbing. We made our way up far too many stairs for a 30-something year old and once i had caught my breath, paid our entrance fee and once again headed straight for the bar. (much to my chagrin I see a pattern forming here.)

GP and I made the discovery that the club has a maximum height requirement, specifically for men. And it seems to be less than 5'6". I have honestly never seen so many vertically challenged men in one place before. They made me look tall! I mentioned to GP that we must've gate-crashed (as we are wont to do) the after party for SMAC (Small Male Adult Conference).

After a few hours of wearing out the soles of my black patent leather stiletto's on the dance floor and blatantly staring at the very short and very young men, we came to the conclusion that we needed to be surrounded by older taller people. The immediate broadcast of another unknown song by unknown artist from unknown decade and we elegantly made our way to the establishment across the parking lot.

We were pleasantly surprised to find average and even above average height men and women. What we weren't pleasantly surprised to see was a club filled with high school students and first year varsity soon-to-be dropouts. (And yes, I kept a look out for my son!) We also weren't prepared for the pole dance simulation gyrating antics of an unusually tall but male looking woman. I think GP is still traumatised!

As was our motis operandi by now, we waiting for the guaranteed unrecognised song and made our graceful exit. In the parking lot we stumbled upon a mobile boerewors stand and teated ourselves to our second meal of the evening. We both agreed that the sausage provided more satisfaction than any man whoe paths we corssed that evening / morning!

At 3:30am with stiletto's and wine bottle grasped firmly in hand I sprinted the short distance from GP's car to my front door and finally entered my haven.

My not-so-successful night on the town begs the question: Where do single 30-something woman go out for an evening of dancing and drinking without patronizing with patrons from another generation?