The Morning After: The Golden Shower

If someone were to ask me what was the worst day of my life to date, I would have to take them back to freshman year.  I was young and naive and spent the better part of that fateful day being scammed by a nice man on the telephone who told me I had won a diamond watch and a trip to Hawaii. Thankfully, my roommate walked in just as I was reciting my credit card and social security numbers into the phone. She promptly snatched the phone away from me, called the guy a few choice names, and saved me from a world of shame.

After that poor display of gullibility, I decided to stay in that Friday night to work on my studies and perhaps regain a little pride in myself. It figures that the one night I decide to stay in, my roommate comes back to the room at 3 a.m. and tries to sexile me. Woken from a sound sleep, I had no desire to relocate. So I did what any other good roommate would do: I broke out the trusty iPod, cranked up the jams, and let them have their fun.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up early that morning being strangled by my own headphones. Gasping for breath, I looked over to see the cause of this sudden asphyxiation. As it turns out, a late-night guest made his way into my bed and was laying on top of my headphones, slowly killing me in my sleep. But the screaming only began when I realized it was none other than my roommate’s boyfriend laying in bed with me.

I was screaming, he was screaming, and loudest of all, my roommate was screaming. She began hitting both of us over and over again, cursing us out and throwing a fit. Who can blame her? The scene did not look good. I jumped out of bed in order to avoid her whaling and landed in a puddle. As if things couldn’t get worse, the scent of urine wafted up into my nostrils and things began to fall into place.

The night’s timeline went something like this: The boyfriend had awoken in the middle of the night with the strong urge to urinate. But instead of attempting to find the bathroom, he decided that there was no time like the present and whipped it out right then and there. And when I say there, I mean right on my freshly printed out paper for my 8 a.m. class, placed delicately atop a stack of books next to my desk. It was like he aimed to kill. After defiling the product of my sober Friday night in, he climbed into bed with me and forcibly spooned me all night long.

The next morning, not only did I have to deal with canceling a credit card, a yellow-stained 5-page paper and a near-death encounter, but I had to spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing urine out of the floor and explaining to my roommate that, no, I was definitely not trying to steal her barbaric boyfriend. And no, we most certainly did not hook up.

[You got a a good "Morning After" story to share? Send it to over and we'll post it (anonymously, of course)! Do it! It can't be worse than crossing borders for booty....]