That Girl

You know that girl. She’s the one you meet in the ladies’ room at the bar who has mascara and snots running down her face. She no sooner looks at you before she enters into a monologue about the story of her life.  Really. You just went in to pee and instead you’ve ended up spending 20 minutes with her consoling her about life and love. “Of course you deserve better than him.” “She said what? Oh she’s just jealous.” “No, you’re the best!” Every time I go to the bar, I become a bathroom therapist to that girl. I feel like a big sister. I feel wise. And I also feel like joining my friends over a beer instead of standing here consoling that girl.

Guys, I was that girl this weekend. Everything was happy happy, joy joy and then it suddenly wasn’t. I went from gabbing with the girls to sobbing to the girls. Oh dear. My poor bathroom therapists, Tammy and Meg, spent god knows how long consoling me with wise words. I think they finally calmed me down and I went to bed. But of course, I spent the entire following day wanting to dig myself a little hole. A little place to wait for the fog of embarrassment to dissipate. I sat through breakfast feeling like an idiot. I went to bookclub and sipped my green tea in silence.  Now that I’ve been that girl, I’m resolved to not be too quick to judge her anymore. Maybe she just didn’t have her shit together that night. Maybe most of the time she’s semi normal. Maybe we all need to forgive ourselves of our that girl moments. I’m nearly there.

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