Nerves have my belly in a knot. Obviously, I know this is great for me. Getting out. Meeting new people. Expanding my horizons. Yada. Yada. Yada. Dipping my toes in the social scene is a lot like dipping my toes in the dating pool: lacking luster and so unnecessary when I already have a small circle of people who adore me and who I adore in return.
But alas, we are doing this.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror.
Having spent so much of my time in photoshoots with a caked-on face, I keep my makeup minimal today with foundation, mascara, and some pink-tinted lip gloss. I’ve straightened my hair and donned an off-the-shoulder black top, black denim skirt, and black stilettos that cancut.
I can confidently say I look good.
Despite the blemish slightly visible on my cheek. Despite the light cellulite on my upper thighs. Despite the fact that some would deem I need to shed a few pounds before being the perfect weight.
Social media has women of all ages criticizing and comparing themselves to unrealistic standards, unfortunately. Self-love is a tough journey, but it’s one worth taking because the end result—living comfortably in your skin and experiencing true happiness—is absolutely wondrous.
It took me years to come to this powerful realization: I am essentially perfect. It’s society that is not.
The only thing missing to make mefeelperfect in this moment is a smile on my face.
Which refuses to show up now that Liam isn’t going to be there.
As always, I snap a picture of myself in my full-length mirror, making sure to showcase my killer heels, and post it on my Instagram account with the hashtag ‘OOTD.’ Within seconds, I’m flooded by likes and empowering comments.
It helps ease the sting of being stood up.
After responding to a few comments, I throw on my small crossbody purse and walk out.
Time to go have fun.
I’m not having fun at all.
The inside of MacGregor feels like an oven and even the air is saturated with a myriad of smells: two-dollar tequila shots, cheap perfume, and horrendous BO.
The music is too loud and we’re packed in like sardines. Currently, Kennedy and I are squeezed between two sorority sisters, who’re drinking liquor like it’s water and giving every man a run for his money. As they totally should.
“Can we leave?” I holler in Kennedy’s ear, hoping she’ll hear me over the ruckus.
“It’s only been twenty minutes, May!” she hollers back.
Twenty minutes of metrying. That’s got to count for something.
I put on my best pleading face. “Please, Ken.”
Kennedy smiles like a good sport instead of getting aggravated by my introvertedness. Is that a word? I’m making it one. “How about we stay another forty minutes and then we can grab gelato from the new place that opened up downtown?”
“Deal.” The way to my heart is truly through food.
“I’m really happy we came out tonight.” Kennedy throws her arms around me in a crushing hug. She may be small, but she’s freakishly strong. “C’mon, let’s get drinks!”
Clearly, she’s enjoying tonight.
Me and my under-boob sweat really are not.
I envy how cool and collected Kennedy appears. Not a single rivulet of sweat on her skin.
My best friend looks super cute in a blazer dress. Tonight her palette is a pretty green and she’s gracefully adorned in dainty gold jewellery. If there was one way to describe Kennedy’s style, it would be business chic. This girl owns a blazer in every single colour of the rainbow and heels to match them.
I’ve noticed a bunch of guys eyeing her, but she pays them no mind as she orders our drinks. Sex on the beach for her and a Shirley Temple for me.
We clink our glasses together. “Cheers to—”
