Oh sweet Jesus. You don’t, child. You go to the gas station and flirtaciously approach strangers until you find one skeezy enough to buy you a couple bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill because he gets a tiny ego boost by convincing his constantly-rejected-self that a 17 year old high school student might let him feel her up in the backseat of his ‘91 station wagon in return. Now put on your jammies and go to bed.