My mother always jokes that she’s disappointed to have lived through the sixties without ever being offered drugs – her rationale being she would have at least liked the opportunity to turn something down.
I never really felt her ‘pain’ until just recently, when we were at a friend’s party. A lovely affair, I enjoyed cocktails, then Prosecco & scrummy nibbles, did a bit of dodgy dancing and impromptu karaoke and the next morning awoke feeling suitably shabby. Good night all round.
It was not until hubby mentioned the offers he’d had the previous night of an assortment of Class As – all of which he’d sensibly turned down – that I realised there’d been a whole other level to the party which I’d failed to even notice, let alone be at. No wonder they’d all managed to stay up till 6am, when I could only just make 2.
I had not been offered so much as a sniff. No one even offered me a dodgy smoke, let alone a line.
Now I know it’s not cool to do drugs and all that, but like my mum I would rather have liked the chance to say ‘no thanks’. Then it dawned on me… I obviously give off such a dull, mumsy, middle-aged vibe that everyone just knew I’d say no, so no one could even be bothered to ask.
Oh well, they always say you turn into your mother… It could be worse, I guess I’ll just have to stick to the Prosecco.