Not long ago I went for dinner with an old friend of mine. I met her in high school, where we both admit that we didn’t really like each other off the bat. (I thought she was a know-it-all and she thought I was a big mouth!) In fact, it wasn’t until grade 12 when we ended up in probably every class together, that we started becoming friends.

We spent many nights clubbing in the early 90s and we both loved to dance. I read at her wedding and she returned the favour at mine.

We share many fun memories together, and lived to tell the tales of some questionable 90s fashion trends and hairstyles. And while we don’t see each other as often as we used to, we usually pick up right where we left off. And to me, that’s what having a good friend means.

So, we decided to meet for dinner at a local restaurant, and catch up. We laughed about the good ole’ days, and talked about how strict her mother was with her curfew. So strict, that I would have to drop her off first, and then the rest of my friends, even though she technically lived closed to me. And I was one of the only ones with a car, I did that weekly. Her mother would always be waiting up for her. Always. But I always managed to get her home on time.

She was saying how her mom had given her an earlier curfew when she was going out with her husband; and how they talked about how he hated that the rules were different when she went out with me. Apparently, she could stay out later if she went out with me. I think it was obvious why her mom did that, but the rules were the rules. And her mom was not one to be messed with. If she said she had to be home at 2am, she better be home by 2am.

On. The. Dot.

We remember once going to our favourite night spot one night when they had something wrong with the heating system making it was super-hot inside the club. The management decided to shut down, forcing everyone to leave at the same time. It was winter, which meant coat check lines were extremely long. It was also the early 90s, which meant none of us had a cell phone. We had to dig up a quarter to call her mom from the payphone to tell her we would be late.

Honestly, in all the years we went out, I think that was the first time she was late. I’m pretty sure her mom didn’t believe us, but it was the truth and there was nothing we could do. We had to wait in line to get our coats and get out of that club.

Looking back at those days, I’m happy that we can reminisce about it. Those were good times. Times that surely bring smiles to our faces. And of course, it means that there are certain songs that instantly remind me of those times.

Here is one that will forever be linked to one of those nights at [insert club name here]; Mr. Vain by Culture Beat.

Happy Monday.