You know the saying, “You can’t turn a ho into a housewife”? Well, besides being totally derogatory, it’s also completely untrue. I know many a former “ho” (at least by some people’s standards) who have turned into great housewives and amazing mothers. So that myth is debunked (you’re welcome) but what I discovered to be true while in Las Vegas a couple of weekends ago, is that you can’t turn a housewife into a ho.
The occasion was a bachelorette party. I prepared for the trip by getting my hair cut and highlighted for the first time in 6 months, ordering a new dress (see No Longer 21), getting a neon pink mani/pedi and a brazilian bikini wax – which had also been a while and is not something you want to wait too long on. Yeowch! (btw… NEVER again). I took off to Las Vegas with a suitcase full of my “sluttiest” clothes and all the high-heels and make-up I never wear, a trashy magazine to read, and very high expectations of finding my former “young, fun, party-girl”self.
I did get to wear my make-up and high heels (The first night. The second night my poor feet were aching so bad that I opted for function over fashion and chose my sensible shoes.) I did get to wear my “slutty” dresses, although my tightest dress was dubbed “classy and elegant” by my girlfriends. I even got to read my trashy magazine on the plane (which anyone who is used to traveling with a baby knows is a huge luxury). What I did not get to do was to recapture the “glory days” of my young, fun self. I guess that once you are mom, you are always a mom… no matter how many shots you take or male strippers you grope.
Here are the top 6 reasons why I am too old and momish for Las Vegas:
6) I call it ” Las Vegas”. Apparently like
P.Diddy, Las Vegas has now become just Vegas.
5) I alternated between dancing on the banquette, and watching my friends dance on the banquette while freaking out to anyone who would listen about how dangerous it is to dance on the banquette.
4) I spent most of the night talking about my baby, showing pictures of my baby, and singling out other people at the bars who had babies and were pathetic enough to talk about them with me all night.
3) I chased everyone around before bed (at 5 am, my baby’s current wake-up time), force-feeding them Advil to prevent hangovers. (ps. it did NOT work)
2) I drunk dialed my husband at 4 am. (wisely he had turned his ringer off)
1) And the number one reason why I am too old for
Las Vegas: When I returned home on Sunday night – exhausted, shaky, nauseous, and with a major headache – My daughter decided that it was the night to sprout a new tooth and was up almost every hour before waking up for good at 5 am. The truth is that even if I was successful in recapturing the past, eventually I have to return to the present. And the present with a hangover is no gift at all.
I don’t blame
Las Vegas. It doesn’t pretend to be anything other than it is. (Except for that time when it masqueraded as a place where you take your kids…. I’m looking at you Treasure Island.) I blame myself for thinking that a tight dress and a few tequila shots would transport me back to a time before I had a husband and kids. Before I had responsibilities bigger than making sure that my friends’ dresses weren’t tucked into their underwear. While I do blame myself for my naivety, I am also pleasantly surprised to discover that while the past was amazing, like Las Vegas, it’s somewhere I no longer want to be.