It pains me to admit it, but I am too old for this.

Last night we were at the bar, working and talking and complaining about the schedule, the boss, and the "situation" in general. We do this - it's like a little kaffee klatch of old ladies bitching and moaning, and would only be improved if we had some solid gays in our ranks. But sadly, all we have are a collection of MILFS, a few single guys who wish we would all just shut up and run the food, a sushi chef who finds everyone suspect, an insane owner, and his beleaguered youngest brother - the manager.

Last night in particular, we were rankled over the new hires. The simple fact is, some of us are fucking TIRED. Working until 3am in a bar with thumping music, broken glass, people screaming, and few chances for respite (aka "the smoke break" which is basically WHY I STARTED SMOKING AGAIN last week, if only so I would have the opportunity to step outside for a minute.) There is, I have heard, a new night time employee joining the ranks, and this gives me great joy. I thought - for just a brief, shining moment - that a new hire meant that I would have one weekend night off a week.

And people. I need that night off. I do. It's not that I work so many hours that is the trouble - to be honest, I work only at night, and not many hours at that. The real issue is that I work every weekend, Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, which is when my husband and children are home. I would like to be with them. At home. Or out - we do love to go to Walmart on a Saturday afternoon. Maybe attend a social event from time to time without having to be working behind the bar. Or without having to work all night, race out the door around 11:30, and get to a different bar just before last call, drink 3 shots as quickly as possible, and then pee next to the valet stand. (Or not. I am not admitting anything.) And while I was trying to explain all of that, to explain that actually, I had no problem with my hours, but wished I could have some personal life, the manager agreed with me.
"Yes" he said.
"We need more people" he agreed.
"Young people, who don't mind staying up late night after night."
And I was nodding along, agreeing with him. But then he said:
"We don't need any more leathery skin behind the bar."

"Yes, yes, exac-Wait, what?"

And that, right there, is when I knew.
I am too old for this shit.
I may still have a hot little ass, but apparently, it's leathery.
'Tis a shame.