The Morning After: Who’s Spooning Me?

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morning-after

My sorority family is insane and I love them. But I have never made it home from a family dinner alive… or with my dignity. Our propensity for tequila has always gotten the best of me. At our last family dinner, they found me exchanging clothes with a frat guy and then laughing and pointing as another family member rolled down an extremely steep hill.

So, needless to say, they decided to send me home with an escort that evening so as to avoid the morning after “OMFG YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT I DID AFTER I LEFT LAST NIGHT!” phone call.

Well, escort in tow, things were going well on the walk back to my dorm room (I mean, my clothes were still on and I hadn’t tripped in front of oncoming traffic), until I happened upon a young man walking by himself. As the story goes (because I certainly don’t remember this), I latched onto his arm and made delightful conversation all the way home. My escort walked me all the way up to the door, waited as the strange suitor walked away, and then left me to go back to her own dorm.

Little did she know this man and I had other arrangements.

I woke up that morning pleased to find myself being spooned. Who doesn’t love an unexpected morning cuddle-fest? It wasn’t until about 45 seconds later when I realized that I had no idea whose body was pressed up against mine. Naked.

Slowly and ever-so-hesitantly, I rolled over and asked with my beer-tainted breath: “Who are you? Where did I find you?”

That is when the story of how I found, seduced and bedded the R.A. of the boys dorm next door to mine was retold to me from his sober viewpoint. Yes, he had been sober on rounds that night. And yes, I had been three sheets to the wind and riding the blackout train.

The morning after, I lay in his arms, confused and bewildered. To make matters worse, I quickly realized he had no intention of leaving any time soon. Nestled in my boobs, he looked quite content with himself. I, on the other hand, was nursing a hearty hangover and still couldn’t quite grasp where my clothes had run off to.

Not knowing what to do, I began to tell him about my family, my middle school love affair with Aaron Carter, how my dog looks when I paint her toenails pink, really anything I could think of to pass the time.  Just when I had run out of trivia information for him, my alarm went off. Salvation to the tune of Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars.”

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me
And just forget the world?

The R.A., still nameless to me, looks deeply into my eyes.

“How appropriate!” He exclaimed.

I threw myself out of bed, yanked on clothes, ignored his invitation to breakfast and demanded he leave my room.

As he collected his belongings and sulked out of our love den, I couldn’t help but cringe when I noticed he couldn’t have been more than 5’2. I never known beer goggles to be so extreme.

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