I’ll keep this brief, not least because I’ve had to down a few beers to wash away the horror of this evening (‘Had to’ is a strong term, but hush).
I came home from work this evening to participate in a ‘girly night’ set up by my housemate, I haven’t done one of these in ages so I’d forgotten how awful these things could be, especially for a girl that’s as feminine as the sasquatch at the best of times.
I bring home microwave popcorn, don my pinkest, fluffiest slippers (unwanted Christmas present ’13) and sit my fine ass down in our kitchen for what I hope will be Disney films and some light chatter.
Oh no. First we have our nails done. My nails currently look like a pixie has farted on them so I’m wondering if it will be considered impolite if I come down for breakfast in the morning with them clean and bare again, I’m also wondering if I care either way.
We then talk about Zoe. Zoe doesn’t know what she wants from life and she’s cheating on her boyfriend. She hates her job but enjoys the money and can buy two pair of boots without batting a fake eyelash.
Who. The. Hell. Is. Zoe?
Let’s just say I didn’t have much to add to the conversation at this point, so I was deeply engrossed in the episode of ‘Don’t tell the bride’ on the tv. I now know that some people actually have fairy lights incorporated into their wedding dresses.
I had crossed over enemy lines, dressed as one of their own and I had gathered important information:
- Nail varnish can be messy.
- I don’t know who Zoe is.
- It’s possible to lose braincells by watching BBC3 reruns.
- Microwave sweet&salted popcorn is amazing.
- Girls do actually talk about their periods during girl nights.
After about 3 hours of wondering when the fun was going to start, I realised that this was supposed to be the fun. So I did what anyone with self respect would do when they realise they’ve been conned into comparing menses, I yawned loudly, downed my beer and bid them a goodnight.
As I’ve been writing this, I’ve realised the terrible flaw in my plan… I left the rest of my drinks downstairs in the pixie warzone.
Cover me. I’m going in.
“The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies.” Napoleon Bonaparte