I had lunch with my friend Sam the other day and was telling her about our trip to Toronto. Sam is a beautiful 24-year-old and one of my best friends at work. Our age difference actually contributes to our friendship in some peculiar way. I don’t feel motherly toward her, though she is the same age as my son. I think I just appreciate the fresh perspective she brings to things, and she seems to value something about the more mature perspective I bring to the table. (Or so I like to think.)

“Guess what we did in Toronto? We went clubbing!” I squealed.

“Fun!”

“Well,” I backtracked. “We kinda went clubbing. We started to go clubbing. We went to a place called the Bovine Sex Club.” Then I started laughing as I recalled the ridiculousness of the evening. “That’s when I realized that I’m not 20 anymore.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes I feel pretty wiped the day after we’re out drinking a lot.”

I burst out laughing. I might have even snorted. “No! It wasn’t the drinking that we couldn’t handle. It was the fact that the club didn’t even open til 9:00 and we didn’t want to be the first ones there, so we didn’t even leave the hotel til 10:00 — which is when we usually go to bed.”

I could see the sad look in her eyes, but I continued.

“Plus, we had no clue what we were doing. I went out and got clubbing clothes — something casual. I didn’t want to look dressed up, but it was a punk club and I needed something. And that was fine. But I got these really high heels and they made my feet numb.”

“Julie,” she started to giggle.

Okay. They don’t look that high, but they HURT!

“So by the time we got there, all I could do was sit down, which was fine. Because of course, the one night we go clubbing, it was Pub Night and there wasn’t a band, so there were only about 8 other people there. All regulars. In shorts and t-shirts. I could have just worn my normal clothes.

But the place was so cool! Really kitschy and had great music. I wanted to take pictures, but didn’t want to look like even more of a dork than I already did. So I snuck a couple without flash. They didn’t turn out.”

The only picture that turned out at all was this picture of the wall right next to our table.

“So we left sometime after midnight.”  (I waited for her snicker, but she’s sweet and held back.) “We waited for a streetcar, but it was taking forever. And Mike had to pee. So I suggested we walk. My ankles felt wobbly like I was on ice-skates. So I decided to take off my shoes and walk barefoot. Through the streets of Toronto. For what turned out to be 20 blocks. I looked like an aging, punk-failure homeless woman with her shoes in her hand.”Sam chewed her food and nodded. I guess she could picture it?

“But you know what? I didn’t even stand out. I guess in Toronto, this isn’t an uncommon sight. If I’d waited a couple hours til the bars closed, I probably would have seen a few more women who looked just like me.”

Sam nodded, and I thought back to my twenties. “In fact, if I’d waited until the morning walk of shame, I bet I could have been part of a parade.”

Fess up. Have you ever walked home, shoes in hand?