walking home in the rain

This is why married women who are almost forty do not go out to see bands with friends half their age. First there is the odd conversation with the Indian cab driver about the disposal of corpses in which somehow, my body shape is likened to that of both a seal and a dugong. in the time it takes to slide between one suburb and another. Then there is the line-up at the door where everyone is carded except me. Then there is the fact that I have more income than my student friends and it seems morally wrong to let them buy me a drink even though I have already bought them one or two. Then there is this pairing off, this settling into coupledom that will leave me walking home in the now pouring rain when they are all settling into cabs, snuggling up beside each other warm and dry in the hug of intimacy.