It was the summer of 2009. I was 24, living with my at-the-time boyfriend and bartending full time at a fine dining restaurant in Waco, Texas. I was in my own delusional drunken world, unaware of anything that was going on around me - unless it directly affected me.
That July, a group of seven sort-of friends met in Houston, Texas to celebrate their mutual friend’s Bachelorette party. Each of us rocked heels, dresses, and clutches as we frantically texted from our Blackberries. After a sushi dinner with lychee martinis, we got into a limo and sipped champagne. The maid of honor gave each of us a pink, zebra-print mask with a sassy adjective. I screamed and begged for the one that said “Wild”. I got it.