A Letter To The Drunk Girl In The Toilet
Dear Drunk Girl In The Toilet...
You gave us unwavering support, words of wisdom and an extra splash of wine in our glasses at 2am – but where are you now?
I’m in the bathroom of a fairly swanky London restaurant, reapplying my smudged mascara with one hand, while using the other to steady myself on the sink as the room begins to sway.
It’s around 3pm on a Saturday afternoon, I’m a good 6 or 7 glasses of questionable champagne into a bottomless brunch and my emotions are starting to get the better of me. So yes, during this communal girls’ trip to the toilet, I’ve shed a tear as I complain about the guy I’ve been dating, wondering why things aren’t working out the way I wanted them to.
Out of nowhere, a girl bursts out of one of the toilet cubicles and walks straight over to me, stopping about a foot away, finger pointed. ‘What would Dua do?’ she says. Sorry, what? I think. ‘What would Dua Lipa do?’ she stresses.
Suddenly, I get it and giggle, knowing what’s about to come. She continues, in a deadly serious tone: ‘One: don’t pick up the phone, you know he’s only calling ‘cause he’s drunk and alone. Two: don’t let him in, you’ll have to kick him out again. Three: don’t be his friend, you know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning. And if you’re under him, you ain’t getting over him.’ We all join in, singing the last line at the top of our lungs: ‘I GOT NEW RULES, I COUNT ‘EM.’
In the space of about 30 seconds, this complete stranger had turned my inebriated pity party into, well, an actual party – with a little help from Dua Lipa. And just like that, she was gone: a knight in glittering armour, who’d stormed in to save me from wallowing, leaving only a trail of Viktor & Rolf Flowerbomb and positive vibes in her wake.
There’s nothing quite as powerful as the fleeting bond you form with the fellow drunk girl in the toilet: she has the ability to make your night (or day, in my case) with her words of wisdom, unwavering support, seemingly endless supply of spare hair bobbles and just the right shade of lipstick to perk up your make-up. Her compliments leave you floating on air; her advice can repair friendships – and even a broken heart. I’ve had men determinedly tell me in the past that ‘all women are b*tches’ to each other… Oh boys, if only you could see us in the club bathroom after a few tequilas, you’d be telling a whole different story, I always reply.
Recently, without the ability to go out-out with reckless abandon, I’ve found myself missing you more and more, sweet Drunk Girl In The Toilet. When I’ve been out for drinks, we’ve had to avoid one another, cautiously standing metres apart in the same bathroom that would usually bring us together. On a recent date in a half-filled bar, you weren’t there to be my sounding board, to reassure me that he was cute and that we seemed to be having a good time.
So where are you now, Drunk Girl? How are you channelling all that excellent club-toilet energy in a world without 3am closing times?
In my head, you’re still everyone’s shoulder to cry on, but virtually. You'll be replying to people’s self-indulgent tweets claiming it’s been the ‘worst day ever,’ lending your ear and messages of support.
I know you’re still handing out those compliments, just over Instagram this time, liking every selfie you see and responding to Stories to tell people their hair looks like that of a Hollywood star. And when we’re all day drinking in the park, I bet you’re out there, somewhere: always with an extra bottle of rosé on hand, directions to the nearest toilet – and some spare tampons, in case anyone needs any.
And, actually, I think I might have seen you the other day: in a pub garden, leaning ever-so-slightly into the 2 metre gap to gently interrupt someone’s conversation on the next table. You told them their boyfriend sounded like a dick and they could do better, and all her friends agreed. You even got a small round of applause – it looks like I’m not the only one who’s missed you.
Dear Drunk Girl, you are the friend I never knew I needed, until you were gone. Completely on my side, a treasure trove of advice, joy and dispenser of many essential items; you're the sisterhood wrapped up in tipsy tinsel. So next time I’m in a bar, heading to the toilets, I’ll keep an eye out for you. We may not be able to close the six foot space between us right now, but I know that one day we'll be swapping lip glosses again and throwing our arms around each other for a selfie. And what a (tequila-fuelled) reunion that will be.
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