Or they need to cut me off when I stop random straight boys that I think are cute and tell them that my friend, the hot chica, thinks they're cute. Without her consent. Or her knowledge for that matter.
Because then I start snapping pictures1.
Yep, that's the picture of the victim and the target I took last Saturday at some Lower East Side basement bar while participating in some 'Critical Dance/Bar Hopping' event. We lost the group and were left to our own devices.
In other words, we were too drunk to realize they had left for the next bar.
And while we're talking about 'knowing better', they shouldn't have given me bacon if they didn't want me to savor it like it was meant to be savored.
Know what I mean?
1 Why? To determine if they're actually cute when you've sobered up!