It’s official.

Well, more or less.

I think I’m finally too old for clubbing.

Yes, you’ve heard me correctly. I’ve finally spoken the unspeakable.

Just came back from a night out at Butter Factory and it certainly couldn’t be counted as a totally enjoyable clubbing experience.

I think it’s the crowd. I no longer fit into a dance floor full of youngsters – boys who are more concerned with checking the girls out and picking them up, and girls who are too busy being checked out or behaving like complete sluts, throwing themselves at boys. No one is seriously listening to the music anymore. No one is really just wanting a good time enjoying the music and dancing with friends. Everything is about sex.

It’s kind of sad having to finally lay my clubbing life into the grave. But when something no longer feels the same, it means nothing to hold onto it stubbornly.

So, rest in peace, my beloved, a fragment of my old self. At least I had been young once.

 

On a sidenote, I thought I saw the most beautiful man outside the club. He seemed to be part of the club staff and was manning the reservation queue. A uncanny resemblance to Daniel Henney. So hot.

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