I could say that Tara really had to twist my arm to make me end up here, but I would be lying, big time. After this week’s horrible work environment and Tuesdays drama-filled dinner the second Tara asked if I want to go out on Friday night, I agreed. Maybe my worst mistake? Maybe the best?
Here I am, on the floor of some club, my hair stuck to the ground in spilled sticky concoctions and tons of dirt. My dress is definitely riding up, pretty damn high. High heels and dress shoes stomp around just barely missing me.
I feel like I should definitely be more concerned than I am, but as a sticky liquid splashes into my eye all I feel is humor. Tara is leaning over me, she’s bent at her waist, eyes full of tears. She’s laughing at me I can’t blame her I’m doing the same.
The music makes the
