Single Girl Diaries: Eurotrip: Bruises may fade, but memories last

(Hilariously inexperienced) Columnist Ellise Verheyen on her first real night at “da club.”

DISCLAIMER: Please don’t share this with my grandparents. I’m looking at you, aunts Lisa and Jamme.

I have a week left. One whole week before my program ends. I will have four days afterward for a solo trip in Ireland, and then it's back to the States. I can't believe how quickly four months has passed.

As most of you know, I'm a pretty mild person. At least in the sense that I'd rather spend my weekends with a small group of friends and a good movie rather than getting trashed at a nightclub.

However, mild-mannered Ellise took the night off last Saturday.

I had a long day of exploring London with some friends and was exhausted. When we got back to my flat, our plan was to settle in for the night for movies, snacks and mud masks.

Around 8, my dear friend Matt invited us to go out to a club called Koko. We were mid-mud mask watching “Tarzan,” so we decided against it. My flat tends to say no to group outings because they, like me, are very pro Netflix and junk food. But as I was responding to Matt, I was overcome with a moment of doubt. I hadn’t really gone out with that group at all. They were all my friends, but we barely spent time together outside of class and this would likely be my last chance. So when Matt pitched that Harry Styles could potentially be at Koko, I was sold.

I cleaned the mud from my face, got dressed (with the help of friends because I’m an idiot), and joined the squad in the flat above mine to pre-game the club. I’ve never pre-gamed before. Ever.

Now I’m not completely helpless. I know the rule: Liquor before beer, in the clear. Beer before liquor, never been sicker. But that didn’t stop me from combining two tequila-flavored beers, a rum and coke (with two shots of extra rum after) and three-ish glasses of wine…

In a past Single Girl Diaries post, I’d mentioned my first time ever being intoxicated. I now know the difference between heavily tipsy and embarrassingly wasted.

Everything was fine. Our group of eight or nine was singing and rocking out, and finally left for the club around midnight (I think…). The walk to the club was really short and before I knew it, we were there. I’d had a friend holding my ID and money so I turned back to her, grabbed my stuff and then my moment came.

As I turned back around to the bouncer, my ID was knocked out of my hands and I tripped over someone’s foot. (Granted, it might’ve been my own…) After crashing to the ground in the most graceful fashion and using the handrail to stand back up, the bouncer decided it’d be best if I take a walk. While I knew that I was fine and it was really just me being as clumsy as usual, I couldn’t deny my impeccable timing.

All but one of my friends had already made it into the club, but I wasn’t going to argue with the large man holding the rope. Therefore, I stepped out of line and tried my best not to look humiliated. Thankfully, the one friend that hadn’t made it into the club before me was gentleman enough stay outside with me.

For 15 minutes, we stood outside trying to sober up enough to get inside with the rest of the group. I told my friend to go inside at least 37 times and even considered walking home in humiliation, but after much internal debate and a lot of encouragement, we hopped back in line and made it inside.

Once inside, I had a blast. I’m not usually a dancer, but we danced the night away. I’m sad to report that Harry Styles didn’t make an appearance at Koko, but it was still fun to let my hair down (figuratively and literally). I don’t think this will become a weekly ritual by any means, but I’ve learned that good friends can make any experience the bee’s knees, even if it result in me bruising mine.

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