night of the supercrip

I went to brandies again last night, for the dickshow. It was superhero night, so there was spandex galore – I especially like the catwoman outfits a few of the girls were wearing. I had on a red cape, blue unitard and the letters ‘S C’ pinned to my chest, for Supercripple. Well, it amused me at least.

Yet halfway or so through the evening, it occurred to me that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I’m now a postgrad, supposed to be respectable. My life as a tearaway undergrad is over – maybe I should stop going. I put this to jen, who swiftly told me to stop being stupid. I had every right to be there, she said, more than most. I smiled: I was, after all, enjoying myself. Then I thought of the past, about school. About the lads who never got to go to uni, let alone graduate, or go to discos. I had, therefore, a duty to enjoy myself, in whatever way I see fit.

With that I sipped my beer.

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