Why I Don't Go Out

Don't get me wrong. I had some lovely company with me last night as we trotted desperately from Park Slope bar to Park Slope bar. I had, you know, best in the world, kind of company. However, even after my five pints I could see the pointlessness of this project.

Why should I tromp through my neighborhood, mining for man gold (single girlfriends- I'm happy to oblige) in a notoriously lesbian neighborhood? It seemed like the guys that were out all had the same haircut and the same facial hair. At the second bar we went to it became abundantly clear that I don't own the right tube top for bar hopping.

I don't mean to be bitchy about this, but when I go out I like go somewhere that feels welcoming. I like to go where everybody knows my name. You know? Where people know that people are all the same...

Okay, I won't go any further with that. But, truthfully, I have had good times going out before. It's just that I'm married and my reasons for going out are different than they used to be. Now I just want to listen to some good music, talk with my friends, catch up on their lives and maybe flirt a bit. Perhaps shoot some pool? Or maybe it would be nice to have a "Minnesota Date" again. You know, an evening out that only requires a liter of soda, candy, a lake and the hood of a car.

The back seat used to come in handy in those days.