Women, we are strange, beautiful, mysterious beings, and nowhere is this more apparent than out at a bar. Nobody can be more cutthroat than a girl at a bar, shooting daggers at you because you 1. Are younger 2. Are cuter 3. Aren’t a regular (girl, YOU DON’T BELONG HERE) 4. Look unassumingly sweet 5. Look assumingly slutty.
But then something strange happens in the bathroom.
That’s right, within the small confines of a public restroom, among spilled spirits, sprinkled urine (come on, YOU try hovering over the toilet dizzy from vodka soda, thighs shaking from Jillian Michaels), you enter into a Narnia-like land.
The whole Outsiders territorial facade fades; the shrewd judgy eyes soften, and any thoughts of throwing a shoulder in front of her to catch the bartender’s attention vanishes.
Because now, you’ve entered into this strange, unspoken sisterhood, where your few minutes of waiting feels more like hours, where you’re almost sad it’s your turn because you just don’t want to say goodbye.