I graduated high school in 1999, which set a high bar for partying (Prince, anyone?). But it wasn’t until 2006 that I really got my groove on. You would think that with so much lead time, the arc would still be rising. But my hard-partying lifestyle was short-lived.
We prefer to do most of our socializing in our apartment building. That way, you can just pop on a clean sweater and slippers and pad on over to a neighbor’s apartment with a bottle of wine in hand. No down jackets in freezing temperatures; no police activity delaying your subway.
You know how at the end of a good night out you are exhausted and about half an hour past your ideal exit time? That’s always the time when I could really use a teleporter to beam me straight into bed. Well, if I’m only two floors down from my own sheets, it’s almost as if I had one. It’s a little sad that my ideal party scenario involves being within 400 meters of my bed at all times, but I’m proud and I own it.
In fact, I’d pretty much forgotten about the glory days of tipsy subway rides until this New Year’s Eve, when K-Pants got his toddler groove on.
We were at our second in-building party and it was way past his bedtime. I thought for sure the Pants would melt down any second. But it turns out that if you keep him up past 10 p.m., he gets some funky wind blown into his sails, and you ladies better watch out.
He’s got a butt shake that blows your mind. If you think you’ve seen his shake before, think again. The post–10 p.m. shake is slower and more suggestive. He looks around and picks someone out: This shake’s for you.
He downs club soda, crackers, and chocolates like he has the munchies from an earlier pre-funk. He has something to say to everyone and an easy laugh.
I kept waiting for him to ask for his blankie and put his fingers in his mouth. Turns out I was the one wanting the blankie. It’s late; I’m tired. Mr. Pants, don’t you want us to take you back??? Please?
When we finally left to go back to another friend’s pad to have cups of tea before midnight, the Pants was bummed. If he, like Sage over at Dumb Mommy, had an expanded vocabulary, he would have said, “But Maaaaahmmmm! I’m just getting started over here. Don’t ruin my night!”
Luckily he can’t say that, so I can still use him as an excuse for my own purposes. It’s waaaaaaay past K-Pants’s bedtime: We should go. He’ll be a wreck tomorrow.
I think his first real sentence will be, “Mom, stop projecting your feeling onto me.” But until then, it’s open season.