So it’s Friday night.

And instead of spending your night in perfect bliss (watching “Toddlers & Tiaras” reruns while drinking $3 wine) your friends force you to go out.

Because apparently you’re antisocial

You agree to go with them because you’re an idiot.

So you put on the closest thing you have to clubwear (Abercrombie kids jeans and the one shirt you have that isn’t a graphic tee)

And try to drink so that you’re buzzed enough to not feel horribly awkward in the club but sober enough that the bouncer won’t give you a hard time.

So you go to the club and the moment you step into line you automatically regret your decision to be social.

You’re surrounded by the worst kinds of people: trashy hoes, drunk messes and people who think mesh is an acceptable thing to wear.

And you spend most of your time in line panicking that you’ll be kicked out of line for being drunk…even though you’re basically 100% sober by now.

But eventually you pass the bouncer, pay the unreasonably expensive cover and venture into the dance hellhole .

Once you step onto the dance floor you realize the night is going to be awkward.

Because while everyone else looks like this:

You look like this:

And this:

And don’t forget this:

So while everyone else in your friend group spends the night dancing and having a good time.

You spend your night in the corner of the club pretending to text.

Finally one of your friends realizes that you are missing and comes to retrieve you. And they give you some reassuring advice that convinces you to get back out on the dance floor.

So you give dancing a second try and this time it’s a little less awkward…mostly because your friends have limited your dance moves to just swaying back and forth so you won’t embarrass yourself.

And you even start to enjoy it a little.

Until someone random guy comes up to you and is like:

And at that point you know the night is over for you.