When I was a teenager I was already displaying a preference for spending my Friday nights home alone. I realise this is not the experience of most teenagers. I may well be the only teenager whose mother told her to go out more.
I didn’t go out because I didn’t want to. I still don’t. I come home from work on a Friday night and I’m usually so tired that the last thing I feel like doing is going out and socialising. I prefer to pour a small glass of wine (in truth I’d prefer a large glass, but medications prevent that), eat something tasty, and watch a bit of mindless TV, then head to bed about 8pm with a book.
It’s hardly the kind of Friday night that people think of when they ask “did you have a good weekend?” come Monday. But it’s my idea of a good time, and I’m the only one whose opinion counts in this situation.