Dear Future Self,
When you were getting to go out and enthusiatically sinking pre drinks whilst listening to the Arctic Monkeys, and you realised that the lyrics to that one song said;
‘the nights are mainly made for saying things that you cant say tomorrow day’
That wasn’t a suggestion or meant as inspiration for your drunk texts and snap chats.
Put the phone down, idiot.
P.S Props for not drunk exting. Maybe there’s hope for you yet!
I’d be lying if I said my night out late last week was anything but out of hand.
It started with a text from my bestie about midday suggesting an impromptu adventure at a new club event that was launching that night. Given that it had been a fairly average few days and I’d been feeling itchy to bust a move all week, I immediately said ‘heck yes’.
The night BEGAN with (successful but shameful) drunk underwear snapchats exchanged with six a small selection of males in order to get a lift to the local so we could both drink – uhh blank, cheap mai tais, blank, blank – and ended in a cab ride home alone after I elected to randomly strut over and make out with the guy my friend was talking to, then dissappear when she still kindly tried to take me home.
Needless to say once I had put this together using fragments of text messages and an apologetic chat with my equally hung over party pal, I was left with nothing more than a next level hangover and a decent serving of post-alcohol-blackout self loathing.
Oh, and to add insult to injury, I opened a residual snapchat that afternoon from a guy I don’t even know raising a beer with the caption ‘cheers. I love sluts’
At least he looked mildly attractive?
Time to dial it back a notch I think!