Many single people over 30 will agree with this post.
Not because they accept what it’s saying, but because it’s Friday afternoon and they’re too tired to fight. In fact, that statement pretty much sums up the entire post. If you’re in your fourth decade, you know what we’re talking about. We’ve been there, we’ve done that, and suddenly, not being there and not doing that just sounds a lot more rewarding.
For those of you who don’t know, this is what weekends (can easily) look like once you get into your 30s…
Friday: After Work
A drink is definitely in order, in fact, probably two. Too bad they put you to sleep. You wake up at 7pm.
You’ve made plans with your friends. This is happening, you are doing this. This concert/event/game is totally worth getting excited for – it really, completely is. But for some reason your couch just became more comfortable than a back massage from Ryan Gosling. You’re trying to get up. You promise you are…but it’s just not happening. You wake up at 2am, see 700 angry texts from your friends, and crawl into bed.
It’s 7am and you can’t sleep any longer. Last night there were 1000lb weights on your eyelids, now there are alarm bells going off in your head. You don’t actually care. You enjoy a coffee – from your French Press, go out and buy an actual paper. You do the crossword…and then read the news online. You go to a market and consider which artisanal cheeses you’ll buy for your dinner party. You buy a nice bottle of wine, the label makes you feel good. You hope people will notice it’s a Bordeaux.
You go for a run/hit the gym. You’re really killing it today.
Saturday: Late Afternoon
You nap. It feels so good you literally fall asleep with a smile on your face.
Dinner party with eight friends – you are the ninth (wheel). Someone notices you brought a Bordeaux, the joy streams from your insides. After dinner you meet more friends at a bar. You get aggressively hit on and think about leaving. You dance to Single Ladies (in your chair) and talk about how spending time with couples is ‘draining’. You get aggressively hit on again and you’re out the door.
You wake up with a ‘wine headache’ and decide to hit the gym to sweat it out. It works in that you feel better, but when you get home you don’t leave bed again until you’ve watched half of the 3rd season of Grey’s Anatomy. For the 9th time.
You nap, but there is no smile on your face, only the slow, rising feeling of anxiety that tomorrow is Monday.
You prepare a nice meal for yourself – something ‘Mediterranean’ – and have one last glass of wine. You watch Netflix for two hours and have one more one last glass of wine. Bed at 10pm, not that you can sleep.
Someone asks how your weekend was. ‘Perfect,’ you say. And you mean it.