Has staying in become the new going out? When I reminded my partner that we had a dinner date with friends, he was appalled. “Oh no, we can’t go out tonight. I mean, we just went out recently … in January.”
Disappointed, I then tried to extract a promise that he’d attend a mate’s 70th in Byron Bay. But he gave another theatrical shake of his head.
“Out of range of your parole ankle bracelet, is it?” I wisecracked through thinning lips.
When I complained that he’d become antisocial, he gestured to the rain sluicing down the window pane, patted the couch beside him and flicked on a new crime series.
I thought about the night ahead, making small talk at a dinner party with pretentious posers. These particular artsy pals tend to invite people who have nothing to say … and spend all night saying it. At their last soirée, I sat next to a sanctimonious, pinched-faced, withered, Ozempic bore who insisted on subjecting me to a detailed account of her “weight-loss journey” as she sipped at her gin and soda – tonic being too fattening. While I’m afraid of heights, this woman was afraid of widths.
With a shudder, I kicked off my high heels, curled up on the sofa next to my boyfriend and surrendered to the cosiness.
Snuggled up at home in your warm jim-jams also does away with the risk of accidentally running into an enemy.
KATHY LETTE
Staying in has other benefits, too. No more fancy dinners at expensive restaurants with friends who think of themselves as “foodies”. Oh, the hours I’ve wasted while some bore consults the olive oil sommelier about the difference between Spanish picual and Greek koroneiki varieties. All I know about olives is how much I like them in a martini – ideally drunk at speed to numb myself against such gastronomic pomposity.
Another dining bugbear is bill sharing. Despite the fact your fellow diners have feasted on truffles, oysters and seagull eggs harvested from cliff walls by abseiling gourmands while you’ve only had a burger washed down with beer, a 50-50 split is mandatory.
Snuggled up at home in your warm jim-jams also does away with the risk of accidentally running into an enemy. I was happily chatting to an old friend at a book launch the other day when my blood ran cold, like some heroine in a Dracula movie. A critic who had savaged one of my novels was making his way over to me, wreathed in fake smiles.
“I should have guessed it was you,” I said, avoiding his Judas kiss. “The sky went dark and all the neighbourhood pets started running around in circles.”
One of the great things about turning 60 is that I’ve become f—tose intolerant – the condition of being unable to tolerate other people’s f—wittery. It’s a phrase I now live by – and not just because it is needle-pointed onto my throw pillows – but it can turn you into a bit of a social pariah in a party situation.
Staying in also does away with the fear of the breathalyser. Only three things get better over time: George Clooney, stilton and vino. There is definitely no dispute that wine improves with age – the older I get, the more I love it. And with the state of the world, have we ever needed a drink more? Not going out means it’s always wine o’clock.
It’s goodbye also to snappy power suits, manicured talons and salon-perfect hair when you can just slob about in frayed old favourites. My current comfy ensemble looks as though I walked through a charity shop covered in superglue.
Staying in also eliminates the pressure to put up shots on Instagram of your sensational social life – yachting in the Med, hiking the Himalayas or doing fancy exercise classes, like Bikram yoga. Oh, the relief of no longer trying to do advanced cobra, locust, camel and eagle poses in a sauna situation. In truth, these days I’m just thrilled if I can get my leg up onto the bathtub for a shave.
And, of course, by staying in I’m not inflicting my own boorish behaviour onto others. So yes, my antisocial partner is right – staying in is the new going out … I just can’t wait to go out and tell everyone about it.
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Kathy Lette‘s latest best seller “The Revenge Club” is published by Bloomsbury.Connect via X or email.
