22 days to 30: happy hour

It's funny how things change. For example, in college, going to "happy hour" meant heading to the bar in sweatpants after your only class of the day, slugging down as many $2 pitchers as you could before happy hour ended at 6 p.m., staying out 'til last call, then sleeping 'til noon the next day.

Now, "happy hour" is a hard-earned reward after a long, crazy, exhausting day of work.

The point is: you really don't understand the definition of the term until you've had to work a 9-5 job. You ought to EARN that cheap, stiff drink at the end of a long day.

That's not to say that I've always been responsible when it comes to happy hours. In fact, I think the term happy hour is a misnomer because who goes for just one hour?

Oh, you do? So, just me then.

I dragged my girlfriends out for happy hour tonight (and when I say dragged, I mean I sent them an email with the subject line, "HH?" and they replied back OK almost immediately). Per usual, there was little discussion as to where we were going. When it comes to happy hour, our internal navigation systems are immediately set to D'Vine Wine Bar. Mostly because of the $4 glasses of dry bubbly.

The company, the bubbly, the crisp Fall air....it was all perfect cap off to the day. Heaven.

There is no way I would ever even consider leaving this one in my 20s.