I tried to give her the look, opened my eyes wide and pursed my lips—get yourself to a mirror type of look. But the bitch had too many sangrias already. I was going to have to wait for the song to finish, or 'till she toppled over. She was sweating like a pig, dropping pancakes all over the dance floor.
Still, she was my friend.
I stuck my foot out, snapped off one of her stilettos, and then helped her up.
"Get to the bathroom," I whispered in her ear.
She couldn't see me clearly because her lashes were starting to slide. You fell, I mouthed, waited for her clown lips to part. They started to tremble instead so I moved in closer. "Get to the bathroom," I whispered. "I can see your shadow."