Look, I’m going to be honest, something about the thought of nights out is freaking me out. I don’t know if it is the fact that I’ll need to do a full body shave, the thought of facing the fella who messed me around at the start of lockdown one, the thoughts of trying to find a new fella to fill the void when I’m crying in a bathroom over the other fella being a prick, or the thought of… ordering a drink? Like how do I do that in heels again? Oh bloody hell, and the HEELS.
It feels as if many people are skipping out of lockdown engaged, with a baby, with a new house or with their life together in general, and I’m skipping out with more fuckboys than ever and streaky tan because I can’t remember how to apply it properly.
Honestly though, when we do finally make it out, what happens with these men that caused the sleepless nights over lockdown? I pondered this today as one came to mind and I was instantly triggered. I know I’m destined to meet him at a bar somewhere, with the awkward: “Well how are you!” but then what? Must take note to let the girls know that the answer to that question isn’t checking out his new bedroom decor. 2020 me can keep that vibe. I must not be left alone at any point, haven’t been anywhere in over a year, that man’s mixed signal centre isn’t exactly a spot I want to snuggle into at the first taste of freedom, but I already know I’m going to be drawn to him as strongly as I’ll be drawn to the chipper five hours later.
But look, if we head on the first night out and by chance I am still in fact a bloody idiot, we all know to ensure that I avoid him the following Saturday, right?
