Too Old for the Club

Last night we went to a birthday party for a friend at a club.  I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m just too damn old for the club.  Yes, at 34 years old, I’m retiring from late nights, bottles of Hennessey, high heels and loud music. At around 1AM, I was like, hmmm…how long do I have to stay here before I can make an exit.  I love the music and had a decent time, but I just don’t have the urge to dance all night.  The hubster is also not really a dancer.  And to add insult to injury, he tries to mimic they way Nigerians dance (which is awesome by the way) and holds his hands out in front of him and makes these stepping motions, which quietly, is a bit embarrassing.  But he thinks he is doing it, and well, he’s the hubster, all the Nigerians hype him up and so I just have to go along with it.

The other reality is that I just don’t have a reason for the club anymore.  While I know this isn’t the “right” thing to admit, the club was my self-esteem booster.  I would start early, open up a bottle of red wine, turn on the Urban Beat station on DSTV and get ready for a night out.  I would take my time getting the outfit and make-up right, jump in the car with the remaining bottle of wine with my girl and it would be on.  We felt really high-class because we would sit in the back and just ride and drink wine as our driver took us all around town.  We would club hop – the best thing about Lagos clubs is no cover charge – and if the club wasn’t instantly jumping, we were back in the car and on our way to the next spot.

We knew quite a few of the “managers” of the clubs so we could pop right in, and it was instant boost of confidence. I liked it, the way men would acknowledge me, my height, my curves.  It’s not that we were fine, but we live in a place where men appreciate all different shades, body types and facial features in women.  Coming from a place like the Bay Area where you were lucky to find a black man working, let alone one that is interested in talking to a black woman, it was a welcome change.

I’ll also admit we also had quite a bit of expatriate privilege.  This privilege allows you to mingle in a class higher than your own in the US.  While we a solid middle class, probably upper, we weren’t necessarily hanging out with athletes and entertainers or folks that owned their own boats.  We also were able to moved to the front of the line, based on our accents alone.  And the fact that we are paid in dollars means that we have enough disposable income to afford food and drinks at the nicer places in Lagos (even though prices are 50% plus higher than the US).

But now, as a happily married woman, I get my self-esteem boost at home for free. I love dressing up and looking good for my man, but honestly, he thinks I’m fine in a tank top and cute panties.  And if I want to dance all night, I’ll just turn on Urban Beats and dance….until about 10 PM.  At that point, I’ll be taking my old ass to the club bed.


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