Mum in the Club

I’m a Mum in the club. It’s 1am, I am tired, my feet ache and I feel like an old granny. I look around me. I’m wondering how I got here. It seemed like a good idea an hour ago, but then it took 45mins for a taxi and I sobered up somewhat. The disagreement with the taxi driver of charging us over £6 to drop us round the corner also didn’t help. My friends are sipping cocktails and a few of them look worse for wear. One girl, a friend of a friend, is standing up yet slumped at the same time, her eyes are not focused and she keeps crying. I have flashbacks to student days and do a little shiver. 

I look down at my virgin mojito. There’s no way I could’ve had a proper cocktail, the thought of a hangover tomorrow is too much to handle. Yes, I’ve had a few gins, I’m feeling merry but I can’t drink any more. A random stranger elbows me as they try and squeeze past in the throng by the bar. So rude. Did no one teach them any manners? 

I start to realise my feet are stuck to the floor, as I shift my feet I realise we are all standing on broken glass. I try to scrape the glass from my new shoes but it’s like a stick of rock and seems to be glued on. I try and get the attention of the bar staff to sweep up the mess but I’m not getting anywhere. 

The music is loud and I can’t hear a thing anyone is saying. The thump-thump-thump is starting to do my head in. What is this music? I recognise a song but then I realise I’m listening to some hideous remix which makes me want to through my glass on the floor. Suddenly I understand the broken glass. 

I go to the loo to find a group of girls having an argument. I cautiously open every cubicle until I find a toilet that hasn’t got sick or some explosive diahorrea in it. I have to use loo roll from another cubicle and hover over the seat. As I perform this physical feat, I hear the girls take their argument outside. “You’re a slaaaaag!” One of them screeches as they slam the door shut. 

I get back to my friends. I can remember the music from our university days. I start to dance but I’m conscious my feet are killing me, I do a hobbly half hip swaying dance but soon give up. I’ve got to sit down. That reenactment of flash dance earlier has really played havoc with my knees. 

Just as I turn to find anywhere to sit down, bouncers come rushing in and they knock me out of the way. They swoop in on a man by the bar and drag him kicking and screaming from the venue. My heart is in my mouth. I am too old for this shit. 

Most of these people are probably 10 years younger than me. People are snogging each other, or dirty dancing, people who are very drunk stagger around me. I roll my eyes. Then I see an older man, alone, all sweat glistening from his bald head and his rolls of fat jiggling as he rolls his hips in front of me.  

I retreat to a chair, in front of a hen party who are at the “I love you so much and I never want to be without you you’re my best friend forever” phase of the evening. I take off my shoes and rest my feet on a chair. I can feel my hips seizing up. I look at the clock – 2am, it feels like this night has lasted forever. I sit there and think of my bed, of sleep, of the day I will get to lie in until 10am. My friend staggers towards me, and I decide it’s time to go. Someone needs a kebab, and it’s not me. 

I wedge my swollen feet into my shoes and hobble to a taxi. 

When I get home, I make a hot chocolate and eat some popcorn. My Mummy Pig pyjamas have never felt better. 

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