Prednisone, Rosé, and Impromptu Pub Crawls

There’s a certain kind of magic that happens when your heart remains open, your friends remain close, and your feet begin to wander.

It was a perfect-temperature Thursday night when we journeyed into the City of Brotherly Love to support a friend in marketing who was throwing a summer sips and eats event. She rallied the troops and we late 30s/early 40s suburbanites heeded her call by way of booked babysitters, cute outfits, and summer skin that was glowing from weeks worth of sunshine. We carpooled and ubered on in, and slowly began dripping and dropping into the venue. We got a drink, gabbed, giggled…and then, like that, the event was over. In droves, the masses went home to ready themselves for a Friday at the office or at home with the kids. It all made perfect sense. But for a few of us, when our faces hit the street light glow, the not-too-hot summer city breeze in our hair, the buzzing cars blowing by us standing there on the sidewalk, music wafting from their open windows, our clothes still fluttering in their wake…it felt like maybe it was a “never say die” moment in the making. We had no plan whatsoever and just began walking, laughing over the noise of the bustling passersby and taking in the sweet sight of a movie playing for a crowd on blankets along the waterfront, reflections of the illuminated bridges twinkling on the river top. The more we walked, our feet familiar with these very streets from years past, the closer we found ourselves to our old stomping grounds, back before we’d had kids, before we were married. Back when we were just two young loveydoos with the city at our fingertips. Our friend was along for the ride and off we went in search of our youth. No sooner had we made our first stop when our PR pal and her hubby hollered to tell us they were in for our makeshift come-what-may portion of the evening as well. The heavy dose of prednisone from my East Coast Summer Rite of Passage Poison Ivy had me zinging and zanging, giddy like a hypercaffeinated housefly, and the sips at each bar were sliding down with ease. The five of us laughed and danced and meandered our way over the river and clear across the city, punctuated by moments of connection and joy and a shared sense of place in our lives. We happened to link up with a dear old friend en route who opened, to our motley crew, his stunning home with incredible panoramic rooftop views of the city, and also a lovely bottle of wine. Up we went, jokes flying, laughter and light. Shenanigans in the hallways and elevators had us in stitches. Attempts to contain our bliss were inconceivable. The night ended in classic Philly style, housing cheesesteaks wit wiz, chuckling at our new treasure trove of shared silliness. Home we eventually did go, dropped off one by one, back to our sitters and sleeping babies, the promise of an early morning hanging above our head like overripe fruit.

Plans and responsibility and practicality are critical for some things. But dancing along with the wind is downright magic. All we need to do is just say yes.