You might have read my post the other week on The Panic Stages of Getting Ready for a Night Out, well I thought I would follow it up with the actual night out, once you have managed to drag your frizzy haired self to the bar to meet the girls.
OUTFIT ENVY NICETY
You walk in to the bar & immediately spot your glam looking friend, you know the one – always decked out looking trendy and glamorous and you really want to hate her, maybe even trip her up, but she’s actually really nice/funny/goofy so you can’t. You tell her she looks gorgeous through gritted teeth whilst looking down at your shambles of an outfit. Then you try to find something wrong with her outfit to make you seem like equals, that bitch can’t be totally perfect… BUNION ALERT; ha that’ll teach her to be so fashionable.
If it isn’t bright purple, with umbrellas sticking out of it and the smuttiest name going it’s not getting drunk. If you were out with a mixed group of people it’s doubtful you would order a bright green long hard screw on the beach, but its girls night and you will have that long screw and you will have it followed by 2 tequila shots and a carafe of wine GOD DAMMIT.
OH NO SHE DIDN’T
You will form a coven in a corner of a bar, but somewhere where you have a good view of the whole bar, you will sip (glug) from your LARGE glass of wine and wait for victims to cross your eye line – that’s right, it’s time to rip everyone you see to shreds for their outfit choices. You fail to realise you yourself look like an extra from the Walking Dead after your earlier getting ready mishaps.
At some point you will gravitate to the toilets one at a time, slowly ending up with you all in there. Someone will cry, they always do; it’s the tequila. ‘I LOVE YOU GUYS’ she will wail whilst wobbling around and chucking half her ‘long hard screw on the beach’ on the floor. ‘I MEAN SERIOUSLY GIRLS I EFING LOVESHHH YOU, YOU’RE SO AHHHHMASHHHING’ tears streaming down her cheeks as she slumps down the wall.
Bored with Ethels dramatics you sneak into a cubicle to check your phone away from the girl squad calming Ethel down. He hasn’t texted. Maybe he doesn’t want to interrupt your night? Maybe he’s with the lads? Maybe he’s with a girl? I bet she’s really skinny and pretty with pert boobs and a Beyoncé ass. I bet they are in his bed right now. I bet he’s playing with her hair and telling her he loves her… In the time it’s taken you to have a wee you have decided the guy you are seeing is now planning his wedding to this Angelina/Beyoncé mix of a woman. You send another 18 texts. 7 missed calls. 3 whatsapp messages. THERE ARE NO BLUE TICKS HE’S OBVIOUSLY PROPOSING AT THIS VERY MOMENT.
That’s it, you’re leaving the girl squad and off to the guys house, you’re gonna go smack a perfect boobed b*tch outta his bed. But first you need food, you can’t go round ruining new engagements without some form of food in your belly. And there’s no greater drunken snack then chips and cheese… Mmmmmm. Until you scald the roof your mouth on hot melted cheese and your already drunken speech is given a new lisp.
TAKE ME HOME MR TAXI MAN
Trying to flag down a taxi to go claim your man it becomes apparent that you can’t remember where he lives. Getting into the taxi you decide if you can’t give the cheating no good fool an earful you will tell all your woes to the taxi driver. For the next 20 minutes the taxi driver wants to stick pins in his ears as you tell him all about how the love your life is currently shacking up with an Angelina/Beyoncé mix of a girl with thighs that could crack a nut.
Once out of the taxi it’s time for stealth ninja mode so not to wake the neighbours… You crash into the door, call it all the names under the sun. Throw your shoes off as soon as you get in sighing in sweet relief. Then bang and stumble your way up to bed where you decide it’s too much effort to take off your makeup… Then the loud drunken snoring begins before you wake up & look at your phone… OH THE SHAME.
Same night next month? Come on ‘fess up which one are you guilty of? I am all of the above except crying.