Many many many years ago, I was out with girlfriends and we closed a bar at 6:00 am. I remember the stark light burning my eyes as we were the last to leave the bar because we never wanted the party to end. I was 19. I think.
The moment where we left the bar, drunk and starting to hang from last call being hours prior, I remember wishing the day would just go the F away.
The light was too painful.
The consequences of the night before even moreso.
I hated that feeling. I didn't feel cool because I snuck into a bar underage, or that we partied until the wee hours.
Even at that age, it just felt sad.
The next time I did that, shortly thereafter with another group of girls, we were drinking champagne out of bottles at Shenanigans on Rush and Division. I wastedly called my boyfriend at the time (my husband now) as asked him to come get me. He told me to sit tight, that he would be right there. I was tapping my foot in anticipation waiting for him to get there from the other side of the city.
Who pulled up ? His father.
I thought I was talking to my boyfriend, and his dad thought he and I were fighting so he came and rescued me.
Not that I have a problem or anything.