After ten tequila shots and three white Russians, I turned and observed the scenery before me. The music is loud, and the room is starting to spin. My alcohol tolerance was low. I didn't want to go out, but I was dragged out of the house by Luis. He said I needed to get laid.
I snapped out of my thoughts when a Margarita was slammed before me. The bartender smiled and looked towards the door.
"It's from the gentleman in the other lounge," he said. I picked it up and took a gulp. It was the only time I appreciated pretty privilege. I'd been in this bar for over an hour, and I didn't spend money because every male wanted to spend money on a beautiful girl. Pretty privilege is real. I felt even more confident after cutting my long hair into a luscious long bob, which suited me.
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