My friend Jen let me borrow this fantastic metallic blue and brown leopard print tube dress for Vegas shenanigans. This dress, though. This fucking dress. For some reason it had a piece of material attached only at the neck and at the bottom, forming a sort of giant pocket. The previous borrower had filled it with candy conversation hearts. Filing that information in the back of my mind, and perhaps several shots in, I decided to stuff this pocket dress full of Uncrustables before heading out to the clubs.
A dollar margarita, 2 vodka cranberries, and several stealings of Jen's vodka cranberries later, I was found clinging to the railing of an escalator, waving my plastic packaged pocket psandwiches at passers-by asking them if they would like one. I then proceeded to chase some poor man down the strip insisting that he eat it.
I don't remember anything after that.
This is why I'm single.
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