I am fall-down drunk right now. For real.
They say they’re “helping,” and “only grabbing me by the arm to safely hoist me up,” but I know it’s just because I’m a single woman and guys will stoop to any low to get some. Specifically, as low as they need to so that I am no longer lying in the remains of the drink I spilled when I fell.
Why is it that every time I reach five rounds of whiskey cokes, all the guys at this bar try to pick me up? I really wish men would get the hint that just because I’m drunk and lying on a floor doesn’t mean I want to talk to you or answer your lame questions like, “are you OK?” or, “do you need me to help you safely get a Lyft?”
Back off, you thirsty fuckboy!
In my dream world, women will get themselves up off the floor when they feel like it, which, honestly, should be never. Lying drunk on a floor is how I own my space, no matter what my embarrassed group of girlfriends say as they apologize to the bouncer about the vodka cran puke on his shoes.
The only downside is that I can’t reach the bar. Can one of you guys buy me a drink?
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Article by Courtney Paige Barnett @OpenBarnett