I used to LOVE going out for a night on the town. At 3pm every Saturday afternoon I would get a buzz of nervous excitement: Where will I go…? What will I wear…? Who will I meet (read: pash on the DF)…?

Flick my hurr back and forth, I would. 

I’d put on a pair of killer heels, curl my hair and slip on my party dress. A good night was characterised by a 3am finish (gotta get home before cab changeover time), blisters on my heels (from all the carving up of the DF), and maybe a new phone number (nothing like meeting guys in a pitch-black room).

And a hangover the next morning?! What hangover? I just slept until 1pm, ate some junk and was all good, duh.

I’d scoff when haters people suggested that I might “grow out” of wanting to go out – what else would one do with their Friday and Saturday evenings if they weren’t hitting up the hottest new bars?! Never, I’d cry.

And then this happened…

One weekend, not so long ago, I was at one of my usual inner city haunts and suddenly had the overwhelming feeling of NEEDING to go home to bed. It wasn’t a particularly bad night, I was just…tired. And a bit hungry. And aware that I had brunch plans the next morning. And my feet hurt a little. So did my back – too much standing up.

It was only 11pm. Maybe I was getting ill?!

I thought it was a one-off. A weird night. Oh no, the same thing happened the following weekend at a friend’s house party, which would once have been an all-night event: I decided to take myself off to bed at the stroke of midnight.

The next morning, sans hangover, it struck me: I was sick of going out. Over it. Worn out. Done.

How did this happen?!

After a few relatively low-key weekends in a row, things really snowballed and I started to notice a whole heap of signs indicative of the fact that I’m just getting too old for that shit. Feel that you might be in a similar boat? If you find yourself nodding along with any of the below, welcome to the club (but not that kind) my friend.

1. The thought of being out past 12am makes me feel incredibly anxious.

Now that I’ve embraced a life of 11pm finishes and early Sunday rises, late nights truly unnerve me. From 11.30pm onwards I start to fixate on the number of hours sleep I’ll get (or lose), I obsess about all the things I won’t be able to do the next day if I get home too late, and I get an overwhelming feeling that I MUST get to bed post-haste. Not even FOMO can get me to stay.

2. I used to know the names of every hot new bar.

Now I’m more likely to know/care about the titles of awesome new books or podcasts. Anything called: [Insert trendy word] Social, or [Insert trend word] Co., or [Insert trendy word] Joint/Inn/Hotel/Dining Club makes me shiver with fear. You’re too cool for me now, Chic New Hole-In-The-Wall Speakeasy.

I knew them all. And I was proud of it.

 3. I will still go to parties, but I really don’t want to paaaar-tay.

I love to hang out with my friends and celebrate happy events like birthdays, engagements and weddings. But when the party is over, I am D. O. N. E. No heading to the after-party for this ageing lady. Nothing good happens after the clock strikes midnight = my new life mantra.

 4. I look around the bar and realise everyone is a good half-a-decade younger than me.

I got dragged out recently: “It’s summer,” my friends cried (like that is going to make my hangover and going-out remorse better in the morning?!), so I caved.

As soon as we got to our destination, I knew we’d made a mistake. No one in that room knew or cared about who the Spice Girls are, and they definitely didn’t watch Degrassi Junior High. They were probably born in the 90s.

 5. If I do go to a club all I can think is: “Urgh, this music is way too loud, my eeeaaarrrrsssss.”

I need to wear earplugs the next time I’m forced to go out. It’s even louder than spin class!

6. The thought of some random man sidling up to me at the bar makes we want to vom all over myself. 

As does the idea of a party pash, making shouty conversation with anyone who isn’t already my friend, and having a stranger’s sweaty arm brush my arm.

7. It’s been years since anyone asked to check my ID.

I used to hate getting id-ed, now I would take it as a beautiful compliment, in fact I’ll often whip my driver’s licence out of my wallet, ever hopeful the bouncer will ask for it. “Oh, you think I’m younger than 25? Stop it, you.”

8. The idea of going out always seems so much better than the reality.

I KNEW I should’ve just stay on the sofa. The sofa won’t smoke near me, spill a drink on me, spray drunken saliva in my face while yelling in my ear…

 9. These days four drinks will give me a hangover.

I drink so much more often now – a glass with dinner, a quick cider with friends after work – but I do so much less binge drinking. I never used to get the phrase, “I need a glass of wine to unwind and take the edge off,” but now it’s basically my life motto.

The result of this is, when I do have more than a few glasses of wine, the hangover is heinous, and last for days, and days.

 10. Speaking of hangovers, urgh.

I just can’t. Once I was seriously worried my hangover might be Ebola…it wasn’t.

GET YOUR HANGOVER OFF ME!

11. Suddenly, I’m picky about the type of alcohol I drink.

I know the names of wines AND have a preference for Riesling. It’s like my tastebuds have gotten older, too. I’d rather suck on my own toe than down a Jägerbomb.

Recently, I was at a house party and saw a group of guys swigging Smirnoff Blacks, I gave my friend a quizzical look. “Oh, they’re 23,” she said. Well, that explains it.

 12. Heels for hours…just no.

Why would I want to torture myself like that? I could watch every episode of The Big Bang Theory and feel less pain…and that’s saying something.

UGH.

 13. I don’t want to spend money on “going out” clothes anymore.

I much rather a lovely leather midi skirt for work, or maybe even a sensible silk blouse. Screw spending 200 bucks on a little dress I can only wear out on the town.

 14. I just want to stay in for girls’ night.

A big girls’ night used to mean a 6am finish, now my friends and I just want to be able to actually hear each other, possibly over a cheese and/or antipasto plate. Delightful.

How many of the above were you nodding along to?