Oh, readers.

I went out tonight, to a friend's party. I only knew the hosts, but I did my Jo thing; I brought a cheesecake, which works well as social grease, cake makes friends. I am good at chat and jokes and putting people at their ease. And I larruped into wine and Prosecco and salad, and had nice conversations in the kitchen, and then the party be-smallened, and moved into the sitting room, and the sweet couple with the sweet just-standing-up baby went home, and I finished my wine barefoot on the corner of the sofa while chatting to a sweet, young tall man with pretty long blond hair and a red vikingy beard. And an interesting nose. And we talked enthusiastically about things we agreed about (except the idea of whatever the opposite of aversion therapy is, and spiders, to which I say no, thank you, I will keep my phobia). And the conversation in the room turned to contact lenses and became uproariously funny (I'm pretty sure it won't translate, though) and I was laughing those beautiful laughs that engage your whole self, that happen for me so rarely these days - drunken, silly, funniness. with clever people who've nothing to do but amuse each other in a happy house with wine and chocoalte and crisps.

So, the sweet guy, and as I'm fairly pissed on white wine and prosecco, I will confess that the thought of having intimate sweet-flowing conversation with a lovely young man, and maybe not having this cold sore on my face, or having all the hair on my head I shoud have, or not being 3 or 4 stone everweight and saggy in all the wrong places... oh, it's a lovely vision, that one that might have led to something, in another life. And even if it hadn't, it still felt nice. And the laughing.

And being able to stay out late - ach - my mother in law is very good, and accomodating, but at the end of the day, she's an Irish mammy through and through... I sent Bodhi down to her house (after she v obligingly dropped me over to my party) and I said I'd ring her when I was finished (I was figuring ten, so I rang her just before ten, when she was going to  come get me and drop us home so B could go to bed).  So she came and got me (v kind of her) but as I got in the car, she asked 'you're very early, did you not have a good night?' And when I said that I had a great night, she asked why I hadn't stayed longer, and said that she could have brought B home and stayed on.

AGHGHGHGHG! I would have LOVED to!! Would you not have said that EARLIER, not now I'm in the fucking CAR, on the way HOME?

Ugh. Well, it's just as well, no doubt. It's just as well I didn't get drunker, or stupider, it's just as well. But, ach, dear. Sometimes you just wish for another life, y'know?

I'm reminded of my father's cousin, who says she doesn't drink because when she does she suddenly becomes so dissatisfied with her life. But that's ok, as it's all fine when she doesn't drink. So she doesn't. Ay, me.