Saturday Night Fever

You know you've reached middle age when the phone rings on Saturday night and you hope it's not for you!"

(Ogden Nash)

We're officially Fuddy Duddies. (Our membership cards came.) We now look forward to long romantic Saturday nights spent alone at home. Sometimes we change into jammies by 5:00 PM, and eat frozen pot pies on TV trays in front of the political rundowns on the news stations. Later we pop popcorn, swig cream soda from long neck bottles and cuddle up to enjoy our newest delivery from Netflix.

I don't know when it happened. Gradually as we sat home waiting for teenagers to stop in on the fly, between their numerous major activities; and then dozed on the sofa to see that they did actually come home to stay the night, we realized it was fun to be alone in the house. No crowds, no expense, no friends to impress.

We still visit the hot restaurants, but we're usually early enough for the early bird special. We're surrounded by people who look a lot older than we do, so we feel young and hip. It's not as embarrassing to let out a sigh when you sit down, swallow down a burp, or send back a steak that's too pink when you're in the oldies crowd. You could probably even borrow their reading glasses if the menu has print too small to see, and offer them a zantac when you hear them order chips and salsa. Everybody in the early bird crowd understands each other.

After our lovely dinner we have time to browse our favorite bookstore, and make it home in time to catch Law and Order in the comfort of our own little nest, all before 7:30 pm.

We punch the Do Not Disturb button on the phone when we want to insure privacy for our bedtime ritual. A re-run of Frazier is relaxing and we go to bed with smiles on our faces.