I’m a I’m a 22-year-old female college student, so my Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights must involve applying 8 coats of mascara, straightening my hair, and trying on 18 “outfits” before opting for two pieces of fabric that only dolls consider shirts and skirts.
After hours of this productive routine, I love to go to a club or bar where I demonstrate my class by pounding back as many drinks as possible (is there any other way to look attractive?), developing drunken tunnel vision and deciding that my time is best spent “dancing” (aka spazzing like someone with an IQ of 50 trying to imitate an adult entertainer) on top of a shaky table.