The Middle Ages: When Drinking Gets Old
Don’t get scared, but at some point you may be sitting in a bar with friends, same as ever, and when you look up from your whiskey you realize you are the oldest people in the joint—by a decade. (Ok, it’s my own fault that I live in a young, rich person neighborhood.) Next step, you’re swaying alone in the corner to “Save a Prayer,” over-dressed, in too much makeup. This is what Logan’s Run was meant to prevent.
So, it turns out that I’m middle aged. I didn’t think that happened until you were a divorced empty-nester (or in Brooklyn’s case, the parent of a toddler). Apparently, it can happen to anyone.
It also appears that being a middle-aged woman means you no longer imbibe alcohol in public—unless you want to patronize hotel bars or wine bars, exclusively, which I kind of don’t. Instead, I and some fellow grown-ups will be surveying the scene–all neighborhoods are fair game–for the elusive drinking establishment where women over 39 aren’t yet extinct.
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