I Think I'm Never Going Out Again

I think I’m never going out again, but I’m definitely going to keep dressing up like I am going out. Last night was my sorority’s first date party of the semester and instead of dressing up, going to the pre-party, and then going to the venue, my friend, Annie, and I dressed up, went to the pre-party, and then went to Shake Shack. I was back home in bed with a face mask on, an Oreo (or six) in my hand, and an episode of Nashville playing (what IS it with this stupid show?) by 10:45 p.m. Talk about bliss.

 One must always wear black-tie attire to Shake Shack.

One must always wear black-tie attire to Shake Shack.

The thing is, I used to LOVE going out. When the weekend came, I was dressed in my all-black tightest attire (complete with my crappiest coat for when I inevitably left it at a random fraternity or had it stolen from a random fraternity so my mom wouldn’t slice me in half) and texting my friends to make sure they were going to rally with me on another adventure. The next morning, I would wake up, usually no earlier than noon, exhausted with a headache. Then I wouldn’t get anything done that day (usually a Saturday), and then I obviously wouldn’t start my homework until at least 8 p.m. on Sunday night (duh), so I would be up until at least 2 a.m.

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY?

Because that’s what I was supposed to do! That’s what being young is all about! Right? Wrong. At least, wrong for me. I discovered about three quarters of the way through my sophomore-year of college that I love staying in. Absolutely love it. I love waking up at a decent hour. I love not going through a bottle of ibuprofen every month. I love watching one episode of my favorite network drama before my shower. I love going to bed by midnight. I love being a 45-year-old woman. This is my destiny.

But Anna, you say, if you don’t go out, if you don’t go to your date parties, you won’t have the fun of dressing up with all of your friends. Shh shh shh shh. I will be able to dress up. Last night, I wore the deepest V cut jumpsuit I have ever and probably will ever wear (partially because I don’t want to buy another one like it, and partially because I don’t really see how I could find something that goes any lower) to Shake Shack in four-inch heels, with my divine date, Annie, who also wore formal attire. Our Über driver was extremely confused, but it's fine.

That being said, there is absolutely nothing wrong with going out. I sincerely applaud those who do it every weekend. Sincerely. If you are one of these people, please email me and give me the step-by-step of how you do it, because I think you’re going to live forever.

Don’t worry about me though, because from here on out, I am devoting all of my formal-wear to eating burgers and fries in restaurant chains across the nation. This is my destiny.