A Night in the Life of an “eXpresso” Martini Drinker

6 pm: I’m putting the finishing touches on for ladies night. I haven’t even had a drop of booze and I’m already screeching like The Nanny after Mr. Sheffield gave her a bag of Balingup’s finest shrooms. This is an omen of things to come.

7 pm: I arrive at the bar and immediately pull my besties into the toilet for a photo shoot, as this will be the last time in the night I don’t look sloppier than a gangbanged-whopper with cheese.

7:30 pm: I tell the ladies that it’s EXPRESSO martini time, the combined noise we all make is considered to be the most effective contraception known to humanity, just awful. 

7:35 pm: I push past people I consider ugly and lock in on the bartender, I can see the fear in his eyes as I order 8 expresso martinis and try to get out of paying by crassly flirting with him.

7:45 pm: in retaliation for the bartender making me pay I make it my mission to tell every girl at the bar that he is hung like Michelangelo’s David in an ice bath.

8:30 pm: I am 3 cocktails deep and I now have the unsteady composure of a newly birthed baby giraffe at a Vaseline party, in my mind I am dancing like Shakira though .

9:00 pm: I let a desperado buy me a drink in exchange for listening to him explain how all the NFTs he bought aren’t worthless and he’ll be able to buy a lambo soon.

10 pm: listening to that loser has made me long for the BCF ambassador I matched with on Bumble last week, I tell the girls that I am ready for another yeast infection.

10:30 pm: he texts me back with a photo of him and his mates sitting around a glass table with a pippy, I deploy my first tactical cry for the day, why do I always attract dropkicks. 

11 pm: to forget about old meth lungs McGee, I decide to have another 3 expresso martinis and create a bit of needless drama between two of my friends, now we are all crying. 

11:30 pm: the bouncer has decided that I have had enough and tells me to leave. I scream at him that I have 2000 IG followers and he is simply shit on my shoe. He doesn’t seem persuaded by my argument. 

12 pm: we take a break from crying and decide to grab a kebab, I charge at the store like a garlic sauce-seeking T-rex with my heels in my hand, while ordering I accidentally forget I am a vegetarian or whatever new dietary trend bullshit I’m on this week. 

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?