Misfit Monday: Running with the Big Dogs… or Not

If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch (or the couch)… or so the old saying goes.

I have a confession to make. My husband runs with the big dogs (heck, he’s one of ’em).

I’m the one on… well, maybe not the old wooden rocker, but on the porch swing, or maybe one of those cheap plastic resin chairs.

Bristol Motor Speedway in Bristol, Tennessee

Bristol Motor Speedway in Bristol, Tennessee (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My husband went to the NASCAR race in Bristol, Tennessee this weekend. He went with three friends, two of whom were women.

I was happy to stay home.

For starters, I haven’t been real fond of camping since the time my family went to Put-in-Bay up on Lake Erie, and it rained all freakin’ weekend. The older I get, the less appeal “roughin’ it” has for me. But the kicker is that at Bristol – probably any NASCAR race – the campground is nothing but party central, all weekend long, with the main activity being the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol.

I have nothing against drinking, as long as one’s not doing something stupid, like driving. But I’ve always been a lightweight, and that too, has become more the case as I get older. A couple drinks is enough for me, because the older I get, the less alcohol it takes to make me feel really bad.

On Friday night, my husband was pounding beer, moonshine, jello shots, and who knows what as he wandered around the campground being his sociable self. I worked on my short story.

On Saturday morning, my husband wanted someone to shoot him. I worked on my short story. 😀

When I was in college, staying in on the weekend to do something like write or – gasp! – study, maybe! – made you a nerd, and not in a cool, Revenge 0f the Nerds kind of way. After I graduated college, being single and staying home on the weekend meant you were a loser. (Well, that is if you actually cared what anyone else thought – which most of the time, I didn’t.) Only when you had young children did it become acceptable to stay in on the weekends – because the kid(s) provided an excuse. By the time my daughter was old enough not to need a babysitter, I was okay with admitting to other people that I’m not a partier, and staying in when I want. Which is most of the time, unless I’m going out with my husband.

Once my husband got “the hair of the dog” and some food in him on Saturday, he felt better and enjoyed the race. He used some restraint in partying Saturday night, because he and his friends were planning to leave early Sunday morning for the trip home. And overall, he had a great time.

I finished making revision notes on my short story, plus got a bunch of other stuff taken care of. I had a great day, too!

What about you? Do you run with the dogs, or stay on the porch? And if the latter, how long did it take you to stop caring if you were uncool?

Enhanced by Zemanta