Ugly Hour

A lot of things are changing for me as I age. I'm not exactly in my dotage yet, but I do require glasses to read at night, there is a nasty varicose vein on the back of my right leg, and little things are adding up, like the number of candles on my birthday cake.

But there are a few great things about getting older, like the fuzziness that replaces some previously sharp memories. For example, it's nice to forget things like the pong of desperation in the air near closing time at a crowded and sweaty nightclub.

I spent Friday night in Toronto with two of my favourite girlfriends, and after a lovely dinner (and several drinks), we decided it would be a great idea to go dancing at one of the clubs on King Street.

We had a lot of fun and I loved the energy of a packed house of people dancing and carrying on, but it has been a while since I went out on the town with the girls, and there was a lot I had forgotten. Notably, I had forgotten the leer of those strange guys who stand on or very near the dance floor. They're not dancing, they're just standing there, watching the dancing. It's disquieting. I had also forgotten that sometimes, men you've never met (and frankly, don't want to know) will grab your butt as you dance, perhaps in the hope a grope will be considered charming. It isn't.

My personal favourite thing to have forgotten is the guys who come up behind a girl on the dance floor and basically spoon her as she dances, again perhaps in the hope she will find it charming. It isn't.

I was especially disturbed by all this because I had left my wedding and engagement rings firmly on, and so had my buddies. Either the lechers didn't notice or perhaps they didn't care. Again, I don't remember it being this way when I was younger and single, but maybe the rings were part of the attraction. Perhaps we were more attractive because we were not in a desperate search for validation and love. We were just there to dance.

As we got ready to leave, one of my girlfriends reminded me what she used to call the final minutes of an evening out: Ugly Hour. It's that hideous, desperate, slightly scary time of night just as the clubs close and the mist of drink and loneliness overrides caution and discretion. I'm glad it had passed from my memory, and I hope not to become reacquainted with it any time soon.