A girls’ night out, from a guy’s perspective

Whether they wanted to or not, every guy has ended up on a night out with just his girl mates. Maybe your other male friends bailed and you didn’t fancy staying home; maybe you were just craving a bit of a dance without Sad Greg dragging you out on the pull.

Either way, you arrive at predrinks with a few tinnies in hand, not quite realising what you’re in for. You’re about to be taken on a wondrous journey, one which all men must face at some point in their lives.

You’re about to experience a girls’ night out.

The preparation

For the love of God, do not question the amount of time they take to get ready. This is not actually a “getting ready” experience. This is hallowed time – and you will be screamed at if you complain.

This is time spent talking and socialising, but not to you. You’re not really invited. You’ll get to sit in the doorway drinking your warm beer if you’re lucky, or you’ll be sent to the living room to fiddle with your phone if you’re not.

Don’t interrupt them, don’t moan about being late, don’t you dare try and rush them because God damn it man you just don’t understand. Sit there quietly and laugh with them as they talk about things which make you extremely uncomfortable. Don’t let it show.

Please include me

Note: accept the fact that pre-drinks may be delayed by girls not being out of bed at the designated time. Add 45 minutes to the expected start time. You will spend the allotted showering time/trying on four different dresses time alone.

Also, order taxis for 10 minutes after when they say. It’s for their own good.

Drinking

I swear to god I have no idea how most of my female friends are still alive.

I’m not going to say that boys handle their drink better, because it’s mostly down to the individual, but I’ve never seen a boy twerking barefoot in the middle of the road after downing three tequila shots and getting kicked out for screaming at the barman.

The tears, of course

Someone always cries. Why? Why does someone always cry?

They’ll never really know, but they’ll invent a reason, then spin that reason out of control to involve every single human being inside that club. It might be about the ex who made it certain they’ll never love again, or it might be about their friend from home who they’ve fallen out of touch with. Either way, it’s probably more about the amount of gin they’ve consumed.

Whatever you do, though, don’t tell them they’re fine. They will snap at you with the fury of a fire-breathing dragon, intent on being as mean as possible.

I know boys can be dicks sometimes, but honestly, teary girls honestly say some of the most hateful and personal shit I’ve ever heard. Make-you-want-to-go-home-and-eat-a-tub-of-ice-cream kind of personal.

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Someone will get lost

Why does someone always get lost? I’m going to start attaching GPS to you lot because honestly there is no logical reason for the route you girls take to go to the bathroom… or get home.

It’s like going out in the Bermuda Triangle. I don’t say “goodnight” or hail you a taxi for you to ring me five minutes later telling me you’ve just made it to Newquay. How? Fucking how?

The attack of the creepers

This is definitely the most striking when you first experience it. You don’t realise how bloody weird some boys are until you spend a good couple of hours swatting them off from all angles.

However, lads can be far too eager and it’s only when you’re “creeper bashing” you realise the sheer numbers that creep forward from the shadowed sticky corners of whatever horrible nightclub you’re in.

It’s like an orc raiding party, only more sweaty and unattractive.

The photos

You take so many photos and I don’t understand why. At the beginning of the night, fair play. You all look mint and dressed up, makeup has been delicately applied and everyone feels downright special.

So why are you still taking so many photos when you’re all covered in sweat, your eyelashes are stuck to your chin and one of your mates has been sick on your shoes?

It’s also weird that you take photos of yourselves in a toilet cubicle. A little part of me dies every time I see a “toilet cubicle” picture. Remember that.

The pilgrimage home

I use the word “pilgrimage” because, by this point, that’s what it is. The journey home is of spiritual significance, when all we want to do is curl up in bed and go to sleep.

Seriously, what could have been a simple journey home in a taxi is thwarted by one girl suddenly screaming “I want cheesy chips”.

If the message is not well received, a second, more violent, declaration will be made. If all fails, there will be an attempt to leave the moving vehicle, regardless of velocity, thus ending your taxi journey and requiring you to walk the rest of the way home. At least she gets her cheesy chips.

Another thing, there is absolutely no point in mentioning the words “healthy’’ and “diet’’ during the day if, by night, you consume your bodyweight in kebab meat and cheesy chips.

There, that’s it. I appreciate this article is one very large stereotype, but please take it in good faith. Boys have their own special little behaviours too, and you don’t need me to tell you: we’re much, much worse.