On occasion, us gals like to treat ourselves to what we call a “me” night. You know, because we deserve to be pampered even though no one else thinks so. Sometimes these evenings consist of nothing more than aggressively ravaging your cheap vibrator to the rhythm of Ariana Grande’s “Dangerous Woman”. Other nights you may venture out into the public because you’re a strong, independent [insert race here] woman who don’t need no [insert gender here] to have a good time.
Who’s judging? They’re all too preoccupied with their own meals to notice I’m here by myself, you think naively while shoveling an entire bread basket down your throat. I could be passing through on a business trip. I could know the head chef. They don’t know my life. I’m me and I’m proud.
We at PenPalsOnPills are here to tell you exactly who’s judging, and why.
“Oh no, another Tinder date gone array. Or is it ‘awry’? I should’ve taken the SATs. Will she tip me more if I bring her another bread basket? She’s down to the crumbs, so embarrassing. My boobs are perkier than hers.”
“Fifteen minutes and she hasn’t ordered a drink? I bet she expects someone to order one for her. It’s not going to happen tonight, honey. Should’ve shown more cleavage.”
That hot guy at the bar:
“Normally I go for the desperate type, but look at how she’s destroying that bread basket. I don’t need that kind of emotional baggage in my life. Women come and go, but my entry-level account executive job is forever.”
Carol and Myles, the middle-aged couple at the table next to yours:
Carol: I bet you $10 her date never shows.
Myles: I’d rather spend $10 on another Old-Fashioned.
The attendees of Chelsea’s fourth birthday party:
“Should we give that homeless lady some of the cake? Or does that mean we have to invite her to sit with us?”
“I heard babies come out of your butthole.”
Your chicken parmesan:
“Well, shit. I was raised in an overcrowded farm, brutally slaughtered, sliced to bits and smothered in three types of cheese only to be shamelessly consumed by this sad human who has no one to speak to about my delicious flavor. This is like dying twice.”
But good for you, girl. Get out there!