Saturday night rights

Remember when a Saturday night was a really good movie caught on TV? Maybe even a sleepover with your best friend you just saw two hours ago? Popcorn and hot chocolate wrapped up in your favorite blanket? The excitement of staying up late because your parents couldn’t tell you to go to bed?

What have those nights turned into?

A shot or two before the drive to a random house a few blocks over; a few shots more with the 23 year old who told you “you’re not drunk enough”; a handshake that turned into much more than just a smile and a nervous giggle; maybe even a sleepover with the stranger who eyed you from across the room of floating solo cups.

And those frivolous Saturday nights turn into staggering Sunday mornings, waking up on the edge of someone else’s bed and, “What the hell happened?” Aren’t you tired of the black fog when you’ve had too much? And the coincidental run-ins with people you haven’t met, yet they met you last night?

But who cares? So you take a shot of happiness stolen from tomorrow morning.

And you waste nights getting wasted.