The Little Things, Part 1 – The Lessons

Whew, even though writing fiction was pretty fun, I'm glad to be back to what I know and love – writing non-fiction.

Guys…lemme tell you…

This past weekend was insane. So good, but insane. I did so many awesome things – I got to go to a meet-and-greet for one of my favorite bands, The YRS (shameless plug – @the.yrs on all socials, go check 'em OUT!), and go to Dollywood for the first time in my life.

But a major thing that happened was…I found my cameras.

Mishy, You Lost Your Cameras?

Yes, the week before I went to Mexico, I lost my Nikon D5300 and my Instax Mini 8. I thought I brought them to a hotel in Atlanta during a weekend I spent time with my mom and sisters, and I called the hotel several times to have them tell me they couldn't find them. I'd searched my grandparents' house, my friends' houses, my apartment, my car, and I couldn't find them at all. I'd decided that they were probably stolen from the hotel I stayed in in Atlanta. And through all this, I experienced several different emotions…


Honestly, I was extremely upset about it all. Those cameras were both gifts from my stepdad, an avid photographer himself, who gave them to me to feed my interest in photography. I reminisced about the times I went out with him to take photos together with my cameras, and it hurt me to think about the fact that I'd been careless to lose them. I looked at the Polaroid pictures hanging in my room in my apartment, and almost took them down because I was sad I wouldn't be able to take photos like that anymore.


I was mad at myself for being so careless, and not remembering where I'd put my cameras. I was angry at the person I'd thought could have taken them, and simply used them or sold them without a second thought to who the owner was. I was angry that, despite normally being able to find things within a several hour span, it was taking me one week, and then two weeks, and then even more weeks to try to figure out what exactly happened to my cameras. It all just made me angry.


Stress pretty much encompassed all my feelings. There were moments I couldn't stop thinking about trying to figure out where I'd misplaced them, who could have seen them last, where they could be. It took me some time to realize just how much the stress of all of this was consuming my every day life.


Even though I was scared to admit it at first, I eventually told my stepdad about my situation, and he sympathized with me, but also said, "Don't let this crush you." And honestly, I knew he was right; from the moment he said those words, I began to think about all the aspects of my situation…

What's More Valuable?

The first thing God was asking me to evaluate about myself was what I deemed more valuable in my life.

When we lose something, we become upset because things like money, time, value, etc. were associated with that thing, whatever it is. And when that thing is lost, we've also lost all those things associated with it. As I was realizing how much my mind and time were being consumed by trying to figure out where my cameras were, I began to realize that my attachment to those things was somewhat unhealthy.

Yes, it was okay for me to be upset because my cameras were special to me – gifts from my stepdad. But it wasn't right for me to obsess over the loss of them, to constantly kick myself for losing them, and to long for the days in which I still had them.

Things are things…they can be replaced. Sure, you may need to spend more money, time, effort, etc., but it can still be replaced. I had to ask myself if I valued my things more than I valued the people and circumstances around me. Would I be more concerned about my cameras, my cell phone, my clothes more than I was concerned about the situations of a family member, or the cry of help from a friend? Those were people and moments that I couldn't get back if I lost them, or if I was too focused on something else to really live in the moment. I really had to evaluate myself when it came to my priorities, and what I really deemed valuable.


Once when I realized how much I was thinking about losing my cameras, I thought of the Friday before my trip to Atlanta when I almost got into a car wreck on my way to work, but didn't. And I thought of the loss of my car over the loss of my cameras, and realized that if I had lost my car – a need, something I needed to get myself to work, and to other appointments - it would be worse than losing my cameras – a luxury, things I used to continue my creativity. Sure, I used my cameras for the creative work I was doing, but my creative work doesn't pay the bills (yet!).

So, with this situation, the Lord opened my eyes to being more grateful for where I was. Yes, I was out two cameras, but I was alive and healthy. My car wasn't damaged, although there was an opportunity for it to have been. Because my car didn't get damaged in a wreck, I was able to travel to Atlanta the next day to spend a weekend with my mom and sisters. And I still had a roof over my head, my job, and food to feed myself. There was so much to be thankful for.

Letting Go

The biggest lesson I had to learn through this was letting go – letting go of the fact that my cameras were gone, and I may never see them again. Letting go of the anger towards myself and that potential person who'd stolen my cameras. Letting go of the worry and stress that I brought upon myself about them.

And I think it was the hardest lesson to learn for me, honestly. Because I'm a perfectionist, when things go awry, I cannot be at rest until it's all resolved. But in this situation, once one week, two weeks, three weeks rolled around and my cameras still didn't show up, I had to face the reality that maybe I wasn't meant to have them back, and I had to move on without them. I had to let them go.

It was difficult at first, but as time went on, I started to accept the reality, and even called my stepdad, and asked if he would help me buy a new camera. We sat on the phone for a while, looking with each other on the same site. He emailed me some options, options I was slightly cringing at knowing I was going to have to drop some major money on one of them. But even though I'd let go of the fact that my cameras were gone, I began to miss the nostalgia of taking photos, and that connection I had with my stepdad, so I was more willing to spend the money.

I prayed, asking God to help me let go of all the things I was holding onto in regards to my missing valuables, and to provide someway for me to get another camera for a cheaper price.

One month after I lost my cameras, an answer to prayer had come. But you'll have to read tomorrow's post to find out what happened! 😉

#MishyWrites 🦋✨

beauty in the vague.

How about a little writing lesson I’ve come up with myself, and am considering whether or not it’s good to share since it goes against the grain of what I’ve always been taught as an English major, and as a writer?


There is beauty in the vague.

I thought about this while I was talking to one of my friends this past weekend about writing. I was explaining to him my thoughts on poetry, and decided to spread my thoughts out to writing in general. Before I even spoke this quote, I typed it out on my phone to make sure that my thoughts made sense before speaking them. And this is what I came up with…

Poetry…no…writing in general…is not complete without the finishing touches of the reader.

And I hope that when I wrote this and thought this out, I wasn’t taking some other author’s words, and claiming them as my own. If I am, I’m sorry – I only truly began to make sense of this as I was having this conversation with my friend. I will give credit where credit is due if I’m told of someone who’s thought like this.

This actually goes back to the night of the last concert I went to in Nashville, TN, when I was talking to my Lyft driver about non-fiction writing. I can’t remember what specific topic regarding writing was being talked about, but I do remember telling him that it is good to give details to help the reader imagine things well, to paint the picture for the reader, but it is also good to be vague sometimes.

I know that sounds odd, especially to my fellow writers and English majors who remember being told countless times in creative writing classes, “Details, details, details. Don’t tell me, show me. Describe what you want your reader to see with vivid imagery.” And I agree, these things are totally important to writing. But I’m learning that being vague can also be just as important, just as beautiful.

This is the example I gave to my Lyft driver: I may want to write about me being in a park somewhere, but I want to emphasize my feelings and emotions while being there more than the fact that I’m at the park. Sure, I could place some proper nouns in there, give some vivid descriptions…

I walked through The Commons playground near the forest green and beige plastic playground set towards the swing set that was rooted in wood chips of different sizes. The city preferred the wood chips to the rubber padding that would cause less splinter incidents among the neighborhood kids, who would notoriously land on their hands and knees from jumping, falling, tripping, etc.

What was a pain to kids and parents all over my neighborhood brought some sadistic symbolic comfort to me. For I desired to sit on a swing, and swing as high as I could, kicking my feet back and forth, pushing me towards the sky. I wanted to launch myself off of the black rubber seat, fly through the air, and feel the stabs of the small sticks on the ground against my hands and my knees as I landed on earth, the pieces of wood stuck to my flesh when I’d look down to see the damage that was done.

Because that’s how you made me feel – you got my hopes up extremely high only to let them come crashing down, with repercussions so painful, they’ve stuck to me like splinters.

So, here, you can see that I gave some specifics about the playground, like the name of it, the colors of the playground set and swing, what kind of ground it stood on. Which is great, the reader can totally envision the playground, even though they probably haven’t been there themselves (okay, maybe they can’t truly imagine exactly what it looks like, but I’m trying to make a point here in a short amount of time, bear with me!)

But sometimes – I’m not even sure when I’ve done this in my own writing, but maybe I have – it may be best to leave the details out. Instead of “The Commons” park, just the park. Instead of saying what color the playground set is, just describe the playground set in general terms – jungle gym, two slides (maybe one straight, one twisty), etc. Now, why as an English major would I ever suggest such vague writing? I feel like a total hypocrite right now as I type this.

In this instance, when I want to focus on a specific lesson, situation, or emotion, I feel like filling out the details is unnecessary. Instead, let the reader fill them out for themselves for a deeper connection to their own story. Let them choose the park they’re walking in; maybe they’ll envision the one they have in their own neighborhood. Allow them to envision the color of the playground set. Give them space to put themselves into a specific setting they’ve created by the general descriptions you’ve provided. And let them take on the feelings you’ve described. Yes, you as the writer still have some control because you’re telling them what the emotion is – disappointment / high hopes that were totally dashed.

Now, of course, you don’t want to give the reader full control of the story if it is a true account that you’re trying to portray to them, like if you were writing a memoir piece. Reading other people’s accounts of their personal lives, the places they’ve been to, where they’ve lived, is fascinating, and inspiring, and I’m definitely not discounting that.

But I also believe that being a little general, a little vague has its place as well, and I don’t know about any other writers out there, but I was never told that being vague in my writing could be a good thing. I was never taught that allowing the reader to take control sometimes, and to connect in their own way with the words I write could be something powerful. And I truly believe it can be as readers can put themselves in their own worlds, but at the same time try to sympathize and empathize with the feelings of the writer.

And, who knows, maybe I’m wrong, or maybe there’s someone out there saying this already, and I have yet to hear it. For now, I’m gonna take this thought, run with it, and see where it leads me.

I hope that maybe this spurred some thoughts about your own writing, or maybe you have questions about why I think like this, or maybe you want to tell me your opinion on this matter? I’d love some feedback because in no way am I saying that I’m the English / writing expert here. Just sharing my writing thoughts with you all! 🙂 Please don’t hesitate to comment!

I must go, for sleep is needed when one must get up at 6am for work the next morning. Sweet dreams, luvvies!


💙 Mishy 🦋

“the tornadoes never came”

I read about my craft until a friend came over to sit by my side, and play me a song they’ve been working on, and read a book about their own craft. Silence is sweet, yet the interruption of light conversation makes the time even sweeter. We talk about our futures, and a meal is prepared and shared; it doesn’t matter that you don’t have a lot, just as long as you share what you’ve got.

More conversations about other things – people we both know, what our days bring about, how we’ve managed to push past self-doubt – all this over dinner, and a trip to get ice cream, and to eat that ice cream outside on a windy, tornado-gray day. It’s crazy how we always have so much to say, although we see each other at work every day.

We drive back to my apartment where the time is spent trying to film YouTube videos, but failing to do so. Because of dead batteries, we go ahead and begin watching Thirteen Reasons Why, and I wonder if this show will make me cry, or if it’s just another one of those dramas that makes me want to try to figure out what happens before the last episode ends.

Two episodes in, it’s ten o’clock, and we both have work in the morning. I see you out of the front door, and as I look back on the afternoon and evening, I thank God that it wasn’t boring.

~ “the tornadoes never came” or “when Classic Movie Night is cancelled”


💙 Mishy 🦋

The Divine Zero.

It was the summer of 2015, the summer right before my senior year of college.

This time was initially stressful for me because I felt the pressure of having to get a job, but also the pressure of realizing that this would be my last summer to have “play time.” The summer after my senior year of college, I’d have to have a job, not just to occupy time, but to sustain myself. There would be no more summer breaks after this one. So, I had to make it count.

I was blessed to be able to spend the entire summer with my dad and stepmom, Honey, out in California. And along with the very relaxing days, we did a whole lot of stuff. One of those things being painting at my aunt’s little pottery shop, where we could pick an item like a plate, mug, etc. and paint it. She would then put it in the kiln, and it would come out all glossy looking.

Well, during this time, my favorite alternative, punk rock band, Pierce the Veil released their first single since their last album Collide with the Sky, which was released in 2012. It was titled, “The Divine Zero.”

As soon as I found out they’d released it, I listened to it on YouTube, and right after I listened to it three times or more, I bought it on iTunes. It became one of my go-to songs that summer. So it was that I would decide to paint a mug totally dedicated to “The Divine Zero.”

Part of me thinks there was maybe some sort of contest within Pierce the Veil’s street team that asked or some artwork to promote their new single, but I can’t remember. I do remember working on it though, and being excited to post it on my Instagram, and onto the street team page.

I definitely tried not to let perfectionism get the best of me as I tried to paint the waves (which was definitely one of the hardest parts aside from trying to have a steady hand to paint the lyrics on there), but overall, I had fun doing it. And, of course, I listened to “The Divine Zero” a million times as I painted it to continue the flow of inspiration. By the end of the single’s first week of being released, I would have the lyrics memorized.

As I painted, I remember thinking of the times I’d previously been in my aunt’s paint shop, afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get what I was envisioning in my head onto my piece of pottery. I would be on the verge of tears if I couldn’t get it right, disappointed that I couldn’t execute perfectly what my mind wanted to create.

But I remember feeling growth that summer. I was growing out of my perfectionism, embracing the unique way that I could create. And I feel like the increase in maturation that summer (in more ways than just creatively) has truly influenced who I am today as I continue to create with my words, and generally live my life as an adult.

I look at this mug now and I love it for what it is. I put a lot of work into creating it, and I wouldn’t want it to look any other way. I even put my favorite Jaime (pronounced “hi-may”) quote on the bottom! 🙂


#JustStartWriting #ObjectsTellTales

💙 Mishy 🦋

A Deal’s a Deal.

I never shop at the PINK store…unless I’m buying my favorite perfume. Or unless I was with one of my co-workers Jess, who adamantly insisted we stop in. This was one of those times.

As we walked into the store with its trendy music and underwear and work out selections, one of the clerks made us aware of the deal of the day – but $30 worth of merchandise, and you get a free mug. As soon as I heard “free mug,” I knew that I was going to be spending $30 that day. And my friend would make sure that I would too.

Not only did I find my signature scent – PINK’s “Sweet and Flirty” scent – but they were having a deal on the fragrances: buy 3 for $30.

“Look! You can get the free mug if you get three fragrances!” Jess exclaimed.

After much deliberation, sniffing, and spraying, I finally chose three fragrances. My signature scent, one called “Sunkissed” that reminded me of the smell of the beach, and another titled “Cool and Bright.” I was so excited as I walked to the counter, and the woman rung up my purchases.

“So, what color mugs does she get to choose from?” Jess asked the woman.

The woman replied, “Oh, actually, she doesn’t get the free mug. It only applies to purchases that are $30 before tax.”

Jess and I looked at each other confusedly. But…the fragrance deal was 3 for $30, right? I think both of us knew the woman was wrong, but we didn’t feel like arguing the case. The woman, who could see we were a little suspicious and disappointed, tried to make the mug seem less appealing…

“I mean, it’s okay. The mug isn’t even dishwasher safe, you have to hand wash it, and honestly, that’s sort of a deal breaker for me.”

After hearing her say that, Jess agreed, and I smiled, but thought, I hand wash everything anyway, so that doesn’t make me want the mug any less.

I walked out of that PINK store without a mug, with disappointment and a little buyer’s remorse in my heart.

We went to a jewelry store where Jess would pick out her anniversary wedding rings, and we’d eventually meet up with her husband. In some frustration, Jess explained to her husband what happened with the mug, and he said that he’d be willing to go into the PINK store and inquire about it. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but he and Jess both insisted, and off he went, my PINK shopping bag with my three fragrances in hand. Jess and I went to Great American Cookie for a couple of “double doosies” while we waited for him.

My heart sunk a little when I saw him exiting the store without a mug in his hand. But then he asked, “What color mug would you like?”

I squealed (yes, I really did), and immediately answered, “SILVER PLEASE!” And he walked back into the store, and came back out with a silver mug in a box in my PINK shopping bag, along with my fragrances.


Thank you, Uncle Bo and Aunt Jess.

#JustStartWriting #ObjectsTellTales

💙 Mishy 🦋

Pomp and Circumstance

Tonight was the night.

As Caylin drove our little best friend group, the Shawties, to the Alumni Induction Dinner, I stared out of the window and shook my head. How were we here already? How had our college years passed us by so quickly? How in the world were we about to graduate in a month or less?

When we arrived at the Fairyland Club, a valet took Caylin’s car and parking troubles away from us, and we entered the building. I couldn’t tell you what my friends were thinking, but I was super excited, eager, and also anxious. Because at this point in time, I didn’t have any solid plans about what I’d be doing after graduation.

Tables were spread from one side of the room to the other, with one important item placed at each setting. An item that every graduate of my college acquired before walking across that stage in May…

Our mugs. But not just any mugs. Hand-crafted mugs that would symbolize our achievement of finishing four years. Mugs that were just as important as our degree itself, it seemed. No one wanted to miss out on the mugs. Even if you didn’t want to be at Senior Social because you didn’t want to dress up, or you didn’t want to see every person who would be graduating with you, you would still attend to get the mug.

I loved seeing the different shapes, the different hues of blue mixed with brown in each mug that was set before each graduate’s plate. People were constantly switching mugs with others to get the exact shape they wanted.

I didn’t switch mine, though. I liked it just the way it was.

“I spent all this money and suffered through four years of stress in college, just to get this mug!”

It was funny to me how so many people seemed more intrigued to get the mugs as a reward for their hard work than their diplomas. Not saying that on May 7 they wouldn’t be grateful to be handed that rolled up piece of paper that wasn’t our actual degree after we crossed the stage.

But the mug was just another special symbol of our dedication and hard work.

#JustStartWriting #ObjectsTellTales

💙 Mishy 🦋

the pan-TEA party.

I had never been to a “panty party” before…

To those who don’t know what a panty party is, it is a party for a bride-to-be where her bridesmaids and whoever is invited bring underwear for her. At the party I went to, all the underwear was placed in a box all together, and the bride guessed who gave which pair. So there you have it…a panty party.

Only, this particular panty party was a pan-TEA party (haha, you see what they did there?) So, yes, there would be tea. Which means there were going to be mugs.

Bria, Kae’sha, and I were somehow able to spend the entire Friday afternoon of the pan-tea party shopping for underwear and gift wrapping for said underwear. I also think we got Chikfila. Truthfully, I just remember that afternoon being super fun, but also crazy.

When we got to the party, there was a small table filled with mugs that everyone could pick to drink tea from, and we also got to keep the mug. Which made my mug-collecting self so happy! So, I chose this blue striped one.

Like in my post about my Cafe Du Monde mug, I was tempted to choose a more classic teacup, but decided the blue striped one was more my style. I’ve always been known to own blue objects since it is my favorite color after all. This mug was definitely one I used frequently during late nights while I wrote my senior thesis paper, although I haven’t used it recently, maybe because it reminds me of all those late nights. But maybe soon, it will be used.

#JustStartWriting #ObjectsTellTales

💙 Mishy 🦋

Cafe Du Monde

I know I didn’t write a post yesterday, and I always apologize for not doing so, but honestly, as I say every time I miss a day of blogging, life happens. And I’m starting to realize that I don’t need to keep apologizing for life happening the way it does. If I can obtain my goal of blogging every day, that is honestly fantastic, and quite a miracle. But this blog is a true reflection of myself – and I am not perfect.

That being said, I hope that you enjoy today’s #ObjectsTellTales post about a mug I got when I was in New Orleans spring semester of my senior year in college. 

This is probably one of my favorite mugs. I mean, I feel like most of the mugs I own are my favorite, but this one in particular is extremely special.

Imagine my friend Rachel and I rushing through a crowd of tourists and locals. Paintings, photographs, and other works of art were spread throughout the sidewalks. We weaved our way through the crowds, trying to make it to our destination as quickly as possible, before noon preferably.

Dependent upon the GPS of an iPhone, we finally found Cafe Du Monde on Decatur Street, and entered the gift shop to buy mugs for ourselves, and other gifts for family and friends.

There were so many styles, designs, and colors of mugs to choose from. I picked up a classic white coffee mug with a dark brown outline of the cafe, a different classic white coffee mug with a colored outline of the cafe, and a blue diner-style mug with a picture of the cafe in green and beige. Where there wasn’t a picture of the cafe, there was a description about it, explaining what it served – beignets and cafe au lait – and how long it had been in business.

I held the mugs in my hand, struggling to make a decision as Rachel shopped around for the items she needed. She also had couple of diner mugs in her hand, one a mint green, the other I can’t recall the color of. She decided upon the mint green one for herself, as I continued to be my usual indecisive self.

But I didn’t really have time to be indecisive. And as you can see, I went with the blue diner mug instead of the classic coffee mug. I honestly couldn’t tell you why; maybe I gave in to it because it was my favorite shade of blue – what many of my closest friends call “Mishy blue.” Or maybe it was the way the mug was shaped. Either way, I have the mug, and I’ve probably used it more than many of the mugs I’ve had for a good while.

I remember lugging the white paper Cafe Du Monde gift shop bag that held my blue diner mug in a box back toward the hotel we were staying in. Our trek consisted of more weaving around people, crossing many different crosswalks, but finally making it to our destination. I was grateful for beautiful weather that day; spring had definitely hit NOLA, and I was sad that in an hour or so, we’d be going back to the college campus, where winter still reigned.

But I could warm up with some coffee or tea in my new Cafe Du Monde mug. 🙂

#JustStartWriting #ObjectsTellTales

💙 Mishy 🦋

#ObjectsTellTales, Mug Edition – The Introduction + Story #1

So, as some of you who follow me know, I recently moved into a new place with two new roommates. Even though it’s been a few days, I’m still trying to unpack things, and put them in their places.

Last night, I offered most of my mug collection to be used among all of us roomies, and as I was unwrapping them and looking at them, I realized that each one had a story to tell – either how I obtained the mug, who gave it to me, why it was given, why I painted certain things on certain mugs, etc. And as I told one of my roommates a story about one of my mugs, I became inspired to do yet another #ObjectsTellTales blog series. It’s been a minute since I did a series, so yay for the first one of 2017!

For those who are new to the whole #ObjectsTellTales series, I’ll explain:

Basically, last summer I realized when I looked at the things I had, like my jewelry or my mugs, I noticed how objects can have a story behind them. And I decided to write up the story for each object. The first and last time I did this, I wrote about the jewelry I had – my rings, necklaces, and I think I wrote about my nose ring.

So yeah. This is just an introduction to what will be happening. Although hmmm…I guess I could write up one of the shorter stories for you guys right now…

Matching Mugs

This mug was given to me by Erin, my Resident Assistant my freshman year of college. It was towards the end of the year, so she was creating a free pile of clothes and other items outside of her dorm room.

If I recall correctly, my roommate and I both went into her room, and she had these mugs she was giving away. They looked identical, but each had a different landscape on them. She gave one to me and one to my roommate, and I feel like before the year was up, we used them at least once to have tea together.

Truthfully, that mug hadn’t been used too often throughout my college years. If I wanted tea, but not too much, it was the perfect size to give me the boost I needed. It just brings me comfort knowing that my roommate (and one of my best friends) has the matching mug. Seeing it and using it takes me back to freshman year of college, and the transitional time it was.

#JustStartWriting #ObjectsTellTales

💙 Mishy 🦋

thoughts at 6 a.m. on a Saturday

She awoke with a major thirst for water.
The only souvenirs from last night were a styrofoam Waffle House cup, slight bruising around her ankles, and dirt and glitter underneath her fingernails. 
Glitter actually covered everything – her hair, her shirt, her pillowcase, her phone. 
She lie there between two sisters – one biological, the other a steady companion for a decade. Simultaneously, her desires were to get out of bed and stay where she was. She wasn’t sure if the night’s rest had been sufficient enough for her; she could only remember replaying the events of last night in her mind until she could fall asleep. 

To stay or to go? She still needed water.  

As she walked around the house, she kicked herself for not writing down her original thoughts about last night sooner. At 6am, there was a particular way in which she worded things that suited her better than right now. Her mind was clouded with sleep.

So she decided to compile a list of words and phrases to express the events of last night. She felt that there was no way to truly explain it because to fully experience it, one had to be there for themselves…


Black, gold, and silver. Pictures. Hawaiian Uber driver who gladly talked about clubbing, and gave his advice and cautioned for them to be careful. Havana Club. Cold feet. “Why’s nobody here?” Tequila sunrises. “It’s so cold!!” Dance floors. Demanding the definition of one’s own club experience. Dancing. Dancing. And more dancing. 

Adrenaline + alcohol kicking in. “I need water so bad.” Water and tequila shots. “I can’t! I’m having an out-of-body experience!” Two shots taken by one. More dancing. More people. DJ was lit. “24K Magic.” Got stepped on by a girl wearing flats??? Aware. A little out of control. “Where are you from?” “I’m from here (What, no I’m not. Wait, why am I explaining my ethnicity to this Pitbull look-alike???).” “What’s your name?” “I’m (inaudible). Have you had shots?” “What???” “Have you had shots??” “Oh! Yeah!” *dude walks away*

I didn’t want your shots, bro. No thank yoooouuuu…

Dudes. Two dancing close. Move away, move away. Still too close. One leaves.”He asked for my number. And I was like, ‘Not tonight!'” So much laughing. 

Still dancing. One dude left. How to get rid of him…Still wanna dance a little bit. Getting tired. “I need to go to the bathroom.” “Are you okay?” “Yeah!”

In bathroom. “I don’t need to go, I just need to sit somewhere!” “Well, sit.” “On the toilet?” “Yeah! Where else?” *sits in bathroom for like 30 minutes, giving feet a rest and actually going to the bathroom. 

Still sitting. Scrolling through Instagram. Checks the time. “It’s only 1am!” “We can leave if you want to.” “Yeah man I’m tired.” Keeps scrolling through Instagram.

Receives text:

“We can leave if you want to.” 

“Yeah man we may need to I’m tired as all get out. Sorry we couldn’t make it to 3am.”

“It’s okay. Call the uber.”
Ya gotta know when to call it quits.

Gets up after hearing someone ask, “How many children do you have?” Washes hands as the conversation goes on. “The Uber’s gonna be here in like one minute…You’re beautiful!” “You really think so? I don’t think so, but if you say so, I’m the shit!” “You are the shit!” Arms around shoulders. Kiss on the cheek. “The Uber’s outside, we gotta go!” Walks confidently out of the club despite hurting ankles. 

Gets call from Uber driver – Steven. “I’m actually next door, but I’ll be over soon!” Waiting. Little colder than before. Car pulls up. “Is that him?” “Well, don’t walk towards the car if you’re not sure!” Steven arrives. Immediately take shoes off when inside the Uber. One carries on a conversation with the Uber driver while the other is on her phone, trying to collect herself. 

Make it home by 1:39am. “We need to eat something.” “But what’s even open at this hour?” “Siri, what restaurants are open now?” *looks up something about blue foxes???* “What? No! What restaurants -“

“I mean, what could possibly be open -” “Dude, you can’t talk while I’m tryna talk to Siri!” “Oh hahaha!” “Waffle House…” “Lets go to Waffle House!” “I just want a chocolate chip waffle, and some WATER!”

Walks in the house loudly. Tries to talk to people who are asleep. “Leave them alone, let them sleep!” “Which car are we gonna take?” “Mine! But wait…the other car is blocking…?” “We can just open the garage, pull into it, and back around her car.” “Ahh, nice.” “You drivin?” “Yep.”
(At Waffle House)

Extremely giggly about the night’s events. Waffles. Burgers? Burgers. Still going through the night’s events. Texting. Instagram checking. Water water water. 
(After eating)

“You ladies are all dressed up, where are you coming from?” “The Havana Night Club.” “Y’all look too young to be goin’ to the club.” “Well, we’re 22 so…”

The cook tried to finesse his way into getting her number. She swerved outta that. 

When she thinks about it, she wouldn’t have wanted last night to go any other way. 

💙Mishy 🦋