No one called me ma’am

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 03/12/2010 (5427 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I went clubbing.

Oh, there I go again, burying my lede. What I meant to say was: I went clubbing, and no one called me ma’am.

 That was the highlight of my night along with being ID-ed and having my purse rifled through. Odd to consider it a compliment that I might be packing heat, but there you have it. You know how ladies of a certain age can be.

 Actually, it was a very pleasant evening all round. I bought a coupon for Alive in the District through one of those group-buying thingies, and I am ever so grateful. It’s doubtful I would have gone to a nightclub otherwise, and this evening opened up a whole new world to me.

 When I was of the demographic to go clubbing, they weren’t called that. We merely went to bars where you could dance. They didn’t have tiny green dots of light spraying all around. If you were lucky, there was a disco ball to make fun of. And we didn’t exactly dress to kill although we considered ourselves dressed up and grown up.

 The women at Alive in the District – and here’s the funny part, it was all women. I don’t know where the men of that age group hang out, but wherever it is, they are silly to miss the show as it were – looked like they just walked out of a music video.

 Make that danced out of a music video. The shoe sophistication was second to none. Every woman in the place had on killer Mad Men-esque high, high, high heels which they kept on to dance. It was very impressive.

 I did have to say please stir, not shake, my martini. The generation that brought us fruit-cocktail martinis have brought down that sophisticated drink. Alcohol should taste like alcohol, not Kool-Aid or melted ice.

 Speaking as a tourist, it was a fun night, and thinking like an anthropologist, it was an educational night.

 But best of all, no one called me ma’am.