I realize I am no spring chicken, and yes, I do have the hints of moonlight sparkles peeking through my hair, but I'm not dead yet. In fact, far from it; unless God so chooses to take me now, but damn that would be a shocker. I'd like to think he's up there saying, "Avery, we all know heaven isn't ready for you yet." So, until then I am going to live my life the way I want, even if the truth of it has to remain in my head. 
     Take for instance, the other night, a Tuesday to be exact. I was out with a darling of a man, about my age, and we went out to a local club to see some local bands. Did you hear me say, "Tuesday"? What was I thinking? I'll tell you. Not only is Tuesday one day after Monday, the worst day of the week, it's also a work night. I know most "young 'uns" don't worry about this fact, but to me, I was already trying to calculate what time I needed to be home so I could wind down and still get enough sleep so as not be and absolute... well, to behave at work. 
     Getting to the club was a challenge. You see I have a go-kart kind of car. Mind you, I love it. It's little, cute, and manageable, kind of like me, minus the manageable part. He, on the other hand, had a big ol' truck. It's great, but I need a step ladder to get into it. The point being, the truck is difficult to park in the city, so we took my car. At this point in my life, I don't mind this. Your own vehicle has a certain security that comes with it. But, you know how in the movies when a woman packs to go away and then someone has to sit on the suitcase to close it? You can use that visual for how this picture looked. 
     This big man proceeds to zip around the city like he's Speed Racer. Come on, it's not that old of a cartoon. I, on the other hand, was gripping the overhead handle, praying it would save my life when we inevitably met our end. Let me remind you, heaven is not ready. Manly Man swings it into an open spot, and I politely show him, on my phone, the club is a few blocks away. Normally, I wouldn't mind, but I wore heels, and it's February. When I say he appeared unhappy, what I mean to say is, his total facial expression morphed into a sullen child. Red flag? Eh, maybe. He certainly didn't give me that expression when I walked out of the house. Can I help it that I dress to look good, not to be warm? That's what car heaters are for. I guarantee if I'd showed up in Duck Boots and a parka his face would have registered a whole different expression. Needless to say, after driving around for five minutes, searching for a closer spot, we ended up right back in the same exact spot and walked to the club. Could it have killed him to drop me at the door? Is chivalry really stone cold and buried?
     The club was decent enough, nothing like "wow", but not a hole in the wall either. Here's a question, when did they start allowing high school kids into bars? I was looking around at all these bodies smashed up against one another, grooving to the music, and thinking not a single one of you should be here, including the dark haired boy screaming into the mic. He can't be more than 16.  What time was it? I had an hour before I would need to recalculate my sleep schedule. Not only were the majority of people below the tender age of 25, the boy at the door, who promptly asked me for the $30.00 cover charge, looked to be about 12 with a weight of no more than a buck ten. I swear he hadn't even learned to shave yet, but maybe that's the look these days.
      And then, here comes Mister Go-kart with drinks in hand. He hands me my pint, yes I have learned I enjoy a good brew over a sickeningly sweet, mixed drink. Age does come with understanding. He hands me my drink and then proceeds to talk directly two centimeters from my ear, as we stand in the back of the room. I know this is normal for most concert attendees, yet it is still disconcerting that I actually have to strain to hear him. He says, "You've gotta check out the restrooms. They're huge and totally clean."
      It was at this point of the night, that I realized... this man gets me. There's hope. Let's face it, once upon a time at an age much younger than I am now, peeing in a club wouldn't phase me. Hell, I can't say I haven't ever popped a squat on the side of the road, or some pretty seedy gas stations, but those days are long over. This girl needs running water, a good mirror and spic-n-span porcelain, with protection, if she isn't going to be home. I quickly forgave his driving skills and his lack of forethought to drop me off. We could work on that later. He was a type of clay I could mold. And that, my friend, is a very true perspective on having lived life. You can't have it all, but you can definitely enjoy a clean restroom. It's the simple things. Ain't that the truth?