She felt it in her bones, vibrating to her core, the pulsating dance music, the alcoholic fog. She was an interloper, a stowaway on the ship of youthfulness. But, oh, she liked being out with her daughter and her friends, felt privileged to have been invited.

It was ladies’ night and the bare-chested bartenders were lined up like scrumptious sushi rolls in a glass case.

A young man in baggy pants approached her, gold tooth glinting in the strobe. She looked behind her, expecting a J-Lo poseur, surprised that he was looking into her eyes: smiling, beckoning. Shorty got low, as they say, and they grooved together for a while. All of a sudden, her dress felt too short, her heels too high, but she knew she looked hot and she gave into the undulation of her partner. She wasn’t used to this familiarity, insinuations with the thrust of more than his hips.

She liked it. A little too much, she mused. Song was over, he asked what she was doing “after”. She smiled, coyly. She had plans.