Weirdly, I can’t wait until I’m 60. We’ll go to wonderful dinner parties.
At the dinner party, I’ll get drunk after just one glass of wine. Being a respectable mother and wife, I’ll remain composed and hide how drunk I am very well. You’ll be slightly grumpy and grumble about the soup being too salty and the salmon being too dry. Then I’ll get a waiter to pour you a glass of scotch, and I’ll tell him to keep the scotch coming until I’d see that grin on your face. The same goofy, sexy grin that made me go weak at the knees for you when we were both 25.
Afterwards, we’ll both slow dance to the Beach Boys, “God Only Knows” (A classic from our parents generation). Then with the same big grin, still plastered on your face, you’ll say something silly like, “Your ears, babe. Your beautiful ears, they’re singing to me”. (It would be your special way of saying, ‘Honey, I know you’re drunk’, because only you’d be able to tell). Then I’ll say, “Yes dear, I love you too”. After the slow dance, we’ll pick up the pace and dance to Stardust’s, “Music Sounds Better With You” (A classic from our generation).
On the way home, we’ll both laugh and pretend that we never had children. Then I’ll look up at the sky, notice the overcast, and mention with disappointment how I can’t see any stars. Knowing that I still fall for cheesy lines, you’ll say, “Babe, why do you need those, when you’ve got me?” I’ll laugh and tell you that you’re right.
Once home, I’ll let loose and in bed you’ll say, “I love you, Fancy Face” (Winkles and all). We’ll promptly fall asleep by 11 o’clock. We’ll be wild and crazy.
I can’t wait.