Much as I loathed, with utter revulsion, the notion of clubbing or a club for that matter, I found myself enjoying the experience in an unexpected twist. Who knew that bobbing your head, dancing on sore feet, and pouring liquor down your throat could be such an exhilarating experience!
Narrowly did my feet miss being nailed to the floor by several killer heels was I forced to spent a good length of time staring down at the ground. Other than the sharp and murderous stilettos, the club was less perilous than a bomb mine.
Mag, in her self-assumed position as our caregiver, was particularly meticulous in steering clear our pathway of bombs, men, zombies chicks etc. And to Yings was I forced to reassess my judgment of her taste in men. And here was my conception of American men always beautiful and gorgeous severely subverted.
Under constant surveillance did I, like a tiger hunting its prey, scan across the dance floor for any man with a tinged resemblance to Korean pretty boys. ALAS! My eyes burned and sere. Where did the pretty boys die off to?
Prior to my first clubbing experience was also the first of my Prom Night. Words alone are not suffice to express my utter disappointment in both the food and the experience as a whole. Let it be my first and the last of my attending a Prom event.