In partnership with Truly.
6:00 PM: Ok. Tonight I’m going out. I’m doing it. I’m mentally committing to doing things with people in the real world.
6:05 PM: And just so I don’t change my mind… a little sip-sip to take the edge off. Hello, Truly Wild Berry.
6:10 PM: Honestly, this is the best part of the night. Me, my Truly, my sad girl getting ready playlist, and the delusion that I might wear heels.
6:15 PM: Should I text the group chat and ask what everyone’s wearing? Probably not worth it – everyone’s just gonna say “idk jeans and a cute top.”
6:25 PM: Love that I tore through my entire closet just to land on the only going-out top I actually own. Can’t wait to clean that mess tomorrow.
6:30 PM: Omg this corset top still fits… when I’m standing completely still and not breathing.
6:40 PM: Did my jeans get tighter or did I—nevermind. The dryer definitely shrunk them. Need to do a few squats to loosen these up.
6:41 PM: Do I even like jeans? What if I just wear my loose work pants? Is going corporate to the club too millennial-coded? Whatever. Comfort first.
6:50 PM: Ok wait, doing my hair and makeup is actually kind of fun. I needed this reminder that I’m not a bridge troll. I should do this more often.
7:15 PM: This Truly Peach is hitting. Just enough confidence to finally post that TikTok that’s been sitting in my drafts for months.
7:29 PM: I should call the car.
7:30 PM: Shit. It’s already here?! Phone. Keys. Wallet. Lip gloss. Go.
7:45 PM: Ew. Why are there boys at the pregame? I came for the group therapy session.
7:50 PM: Why is there always one man in the corner who thinks he’s DJing a Boiler Room set just because he queued a Fred Again song?
7:51 PM: Smile. Nod. Pretend to love EDM even though there are no lyrics and I feel like I’m in a car commercial.
8:00 PM: Cracking another Truly because we must be leaving soon.
8:45 PM: WHY are we still here? Why are we not leaving? Why am I being held hostage by people arguing about which bar has “better vibes”?
9:30 PM: Starting the night now is criminal. This is usually my bedtime. And by “starting,” I mean standing in a 40-person line outside a bar that smells sticky.
10:00 PM: The DJ is playing 2010 Usher. I’ve left my body.
10:01 PM: Should I text my middle school ex? Just for a little sprinkle of chaos?
10:05 PM: I’m dancing, I’m sweating, I’m wondering if I’ve ever actually enjoyed being in a club or if I’ve just been bullied by a Charli XCX marketing campaign into thinking this was fun.
11:00 PM: My back hurts from standing. Why is everyone here 22 and glowing and not asking for a chiropractor?
11:15 PM: Just caught a terrifying glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. Let’s do a quick retouch and pretend that didn’t happen.
12:00 AM: I need food. Like, emergency.
12:15 AM: Do I ghost the group and get mozzarella sticks alone? Or announce my departure?
12:30 AM: I’ve rallied. Barely. Only because someone said “late-night food run.”
1:45 AM: We’re finally in a car heading home. Let me do some menu research.
1:55 AM: The second these fries hit the table, I’m transcending to another plane of existence.
2:00 AM: Me. My Truly. Chicken tenders. Silence. This is heaven. This is what I got ready for. This is why I put on heels. Worth it.
