Why is it that every event does not compare to the preparation for it? Why do we enjoy the picking out outfits and doing each other’s make up part of the night more? I am not sure about you, but my friends and I enjoy the pre way more than the actual going out part. There came a point where we’d just host the pre and then let everyone else go out after without us.
Those times where the sun is still out, beginning to set and cast a golden glow across the floors of your house. You and the girls have already pulled out the drinks and are sipping on them while chatting about what assignment you should be doing instead. The smell of burning hair has crowded the room, but to you, it’s the smell of a formal. Everyone’s room is covered in neglected outfits that scatter the floor. Avril Lavigne and Taylor Swift, your guilty pleasure songs, are playing in the background as everyone sings along off-key. Makeup is getting applied and reapplied as every black line gets smudged. Dull, cracked lips from the wind are becoming vibrant shades of red and pink lighting up the room. You look around the room at all the beautiful people and wish you could hold on to this feeling forever. Someone is counting down the minutes until you have to leave while others still haven’t changed out of their sweats. Most of you are getting to the point where walking in heels is going to be more than the usual struggle. In the corner is a group of you on the couch were one is spilling the tea and another is literally about to drop the sangria. The moment is so typical, so girly, and you love it. The ones who don’t know how to do makeup watch in amazement as their face changes. Others are rocking the minimal look. Everyone looks like goddesses. The room is loud with compliments, like in the bathroom of bars and clubs but on steroids. It’s almost time to take pictures, luckily Chad showed up just in time to take them. The routine of smiling, serious, and candid is exhausted by the time people are remembering that they still have drinks to finish.
You’re back. Sleepy eyes are glued to their phones, sprawled across the couches. Someone says “Guys the pictures are sooooo cute!” and immediately fingers are swiping through the collection. Filters are approved, and captions are laughed at. Instagram fills with the same photo repeated over and over, some get more likes, and some get less. Your hearts are smiling at each other. A voice is whispering in your ear that nights like this are going to end eventually, and you reach out to try to grab a hold of this feeling but it’s faster than you.