Listen, P. We're pretty much in our mid-thirties, you and I. You are still very pretty and gamine and all of that jazz, but the floating-on-cotton-candy-while-coyly-spouting-sexual-innuendo-in-an-autotuned-baby-voice ship has sailed. Like, a solid ten years ago. It's time to move on from the Princess Baby strokes a unicorn pastures. And that's okay.
We're now the "gross old people" in the club. That's why I don't go to them anymore. (That, and rap music is not danceable anymore. I miss "In the Club" in the club. Or shaking it like a Polaroid picture.) Remember how much you made fun of those people?** That's us now. So stop trying to make club bangers happen.
Maybe it's time to take up something a tad bit more mature and less like what would come up if you googled, "what would a Lisa Frank porn set look like?" It's cool to let it go, Paris. It's not so bad. Remember how gross the early aughts were anyway? It was all dangly Playboy Bunny bellybutton rings and pointy-toed two-inch heels. You don't want to keep reliving that bullshit.
So let's take out those colored contacts and go get some tea. And maybe go to a bookstore, or something. It's time.
**The first time I went to a bar or club after graduating from college and moving to a non-college town, I literally said, "Why are all of these old people here? Gross."
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