It was my friend D's birthday yesterday, so we planned a night out on the town. I arrived around 5pm and D cooked a wonderful paella, which we ate with a bottle of our favourite - Mateus Rose. We then rushed upstairs to have a bath (not together!) and get ready, exchanging gossip and hopes for the evening ahead - full of promise. The phone rang and it was our friend A, at the airport, just landed, back from skiing in France - he would join us in an hour, he said. Horror! Our girls' night out had been hijacked, and even worse, three is definitely a crowd! Thinking on our feet, we rang another single male friend, N. Oh yes, he was keen to come along, and we arranged to meet in the pub at 10pm. The Mateus was sliding down nicely, A arrived and we called a taxi, braving the icy cold wind and got to the pub on time to find N standing at the bar in his combat trousers and an old t-shirt. A had a three day growth of stubble and old jeans and jumper. D and I were dressed ready for Studio 54. They were all grungy - we were all disco. The wine was working, the boys were downing pints, and somehow we never left the pub. We spent the evening drinking awful wine and discussing the merits of Noggin The Nog and Aqua Marina (with a brief detour into the life and death of Sylvia Plath). A and N insisted the reason they couldn't marry younger women was because they wouldn't be able to relate to Noggin and Marina, who was apparently the first love of every man over the age of 40 (and yes, the fact that she was mute did add to her appeal). D and I rather think that younger women might not be attracted to men who are fascinated by Noggin and Marina. D and I think we may re-run the girls night out next week. We've decided that every day should be a special occasion and every weekend a celebration.
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