Sharon DeVellis: Inside Scoop


The Youngest Old Person Alive

How Did This Happen?

Last night at 8:52 pm I tweeted out:

The thing is, I think I really might be the youngest old person alive. I am a homebody to the Nth degree and would rather ride naked on a horse than go out for a night on the town. For reals. But I'd totally wear a long wig so I was all covered and sexy and stuff.

One year for my birthday I told my husband I wanted to go to the Casino Niagara. And instead of taking the car, how about we take the bus like his parents do when they have the impulse to gamble which, for the record is at least once a month, because then we don’t have to worry about driving?  Which was how we ended up on a bus with 40+ senior citizens teaching us the ins and outs of slot machines and how to work the buffet (don’t fill up on salad, get there early).  We ate lunch at 11:30 a.m.
Admittedly, my social life is not the thriving, spur of the moment, let’s go out and dance, sleep until 2:00 p.m. the next day, it once was.  I don’t go to clubs—loud music hurts my ears, late dinners leave me feeling light-headed and I need the help of a fairy godmother if I’m going to stay up past midnight.  
Mostly my social life revolves around neighbourhood potluck dinner parties, the occasional girls night out and a monthly book club.
I sat down and consciously thought about this turn of events.  This evolution of social demise that happened so slowly I didn’t even realize it was happening.  But now I know.  And as we all know, once you see something, you can’t unsee it. There's no unringing a bell. The toothpaste isn't going back in the tube. A done bun can’t be undone.  
While my social life is not what it used to be, I’m okay with it.  In fact I'm more than okay with it.  I love hanging out at home with my girlfriends where I can relax in luon or spend the night cuddled in a comforter reading a book. I love spending Saturday night splayed out on the couch with my husband watching a documentary.  And I love not having fancy restaurants, dressing up, and nights at a club looming over my head like a guillotine; pretending to be something I’m not.
Sure, there are days when I miss having a full social calendar, one that didn't involve military strategic planning, babysitters and dinners prepared ahead of time. And when my husband and I do go out for a "fancy" night, we inevitably have a great time and ask ourselves why we don't do this more often, that is, until we have to get up the next morning to face the kids.
But drinking tea and getting lost in a book at 9:00 p.m. on a Tuesday night? That's me. It's part of who I am.  
And I’d write more but it’s 4:30 p.m. and I need to eat dinner. 

p.s. If you liked this, you'll love the birthday card my son got for me.