When it comes to nights out in Irish towns, there is a very high (99.9%) chance that you’re going to bump into that guy who is currently flinging little daggers into your soul. You might pass him when you first arrive at the bar, sexy and aloof, when you’re elegantly making your way through the smoking area, when you’re on your way to vomit, or maybe on your way for chips when one taped boob has collapsed, you’re carrying a snapped high-heel, and you’re missing one strip of lashes. Yep, probably the options at the end of the list there, sorry about that.
There’s no escaping him, even if you pre-drink in different locations or start on cocktails in different bars, the likelihood is, if you’re both out, you’re heading to the same place after midnight. Every Saturday night on the Emerald Isle consists of at least one empowered gal, her four friends, eight bottles of Iconic Bronze between them and a chorus of “Oh nooooo!” when that familiar fuckboy appears amongst the crowds.
I hate to admit it and reveal my stalker tendencies, but Snap Maps are a handy tool here, although they need to get more in-depth with content, for example: “The love of your life was getting it on in the corner with someone who defo wasn’t you three minutes ago” YEP, THANKS FOR THAT SNAPCHAT, IMMA GO HOME. You just don’t need this when you had already spent 40 minutes ranting about him five hours ago when your lashes wouldn’t stick and your new dress looked a bit shit, so naturally, he was to blame.
You know his main haunts, you know all his crew, you don’t know why he didn’t text you after the last Saturday night you spent together, and you definitely know what you’re capable of when you make an emotional cocktail consisting of all these deets and a little dash of the aul pink gin. You know what, just stay home hun. The lash breakdown was a sign, A SIGN I TELL YOU!!
