La Libertà (ON HOLD)

2. The Drinks

"...It's Saturday night and it won't long, gotta paint my nails, put my high heels on..." The song comes like a reflex as I perfect my left eye-make after nine accurate tries.

"Oh, keep quiet and hurry up. That song is like decades old and we're getting late." Zara whines as she waits for me to get ready, impatiently seated on her bed.

"Shut up! That song is freaking iconic." I dramatically gasp, taking a pause from painting my face and Zara looks at her watch.

"If you don't finish in the next five minutes, I'm abandoning you in the house. And there is no food in the fridge." I gasp, my hand racing to my chest, "You cruel witch!"

"...And you dramatic bitch! Now hurry up! And please behave yourself at the club." Zara orders.

"Oh please! You don't talk. I am always on my best behavior. I'm the poster child for best behavior. Just see how well behaved I am."

*****

"Yup! She has lost all her dignity."

When ego mixes with Maira Patel's flamboyant personality, she finds herself drunk on two breezers, two tequila shots and one whiskey on the rocks. All this alcoholic chemical reaction leads to my very drunken feminine body grinding with a stranger to very catchy Bollywood music. I am officially the exhibit for 'What NOT to do at a nightclub'.

"That's it! I can't watch." Thank the multiple Gods above that they blessed me with best friend who has a much more principled conscience than I do. My sober best friend drags my sloshed body off the dance floor and seats me on a bar stool, while I lean over the black marble countertop.

I watch as my graceful best friend calls out to a waiter and mumbles a few words before she diverts her attention back on me and painfully twists my ear lobe, "What is wrong with you? You weren't supposed to get drunk. We were supposed to have fun, not have me take care of your drunken ass. Ugh!" She lets go and I sloppily go back to resting my head back on the cold hard countertop.

"Are you crying?" Zara's voice is laced with concern and before I can process why she asked the question; I realize a stream flowing down my cheeks. How can I possibly be crying when I don't feel like crying? How fucked is my brain? Am I even alive? What's going on?

"I'm s...so...sorry Zara! I didn't mean to disappoint you..." Wait, why does this sound like my voice? Am I talking? "I know I'm a disappointment. Not only to you, to my family, to my dead parents, to my ex, to everyone. I'm a loser!" Why the fuck can't I feel myself talk?

Oh My God! This is like Bruce Banner and Hulk. I am losing control over my body. Wait, did I just compare myself to Hulk. You have won arm wrestling championships in school. Who was that? Holy Lord! How many voices do I have in my head? Ahhhh! I shouldn't have had so many drinks. I'm losing it! You never had IT!

"Aww honey! Don't say that. I was just playfully scolding you. You don't have to cry for that. I still love your very sorry drunken ass." Zara lightly chuckles.

"Yeah! You're the only one who likes my ass. No one else does. My ex thought I was too flat. That's why he cheated. I mean I wish I had your perfect bubble round ass. It's so perfect I could squish it." Oh my God! What in the Mahabharat am I even saying?!

Hello everyone and welcome to 'Sloshed Nights with Maira'! Let the bullshit talks begin.

"... I mean look at you Zara. You are so goddamn sexy; I'd be bi for you. Hell! I would fuck you! Like you are just so bang-able like I know I'm taller than you by a few inches, but God you're gorgeous and I- STOP RECORDING!" Even through the blaring music, I hear my best friend giggling behind her i-phone.