The Morning After: The St. Patty’s Day Peep Show

As per usual in my life, my senior year (the first one, mind you) was spent obsessing over a gargantuan, shaggy-haired, Beatles’ lovin, ex-BF who thought he was way too good for me. Even though he ignored me 99% of the time, I basically revolved my life around him. I planned my weekend festivities around where I thought he might show up. I wriggled myself into outfits no one should ever have to wriggle themselves into to “show him what he was missing.” (Which, it turned out, was a girl in a too-low top whose boobs were constantly falling out.) I made out with his friends in front of him.

Basically, I turned into a grade A psychopath. But, we still had mutual friends. Lots of them.

So, I got lucky one St. Patrick’s eve when said boy and I showed up at the same bash to indulge ourselves in green beer and endless games of flip cup. And after doing just that, ex-boy and I began our ritual flirtfest. We were notoriously known for talking smack about each other one day and hooking up the next, so no one was surprised when they watched us waltz away together – me, elated, him, just drunk. However, it had been about 5 months since our last little romp in the sheets and since then, he’d pretty much sworn me off to everyone he knew. Especially to his roommate, who now stared me down whenever he saw me and probably knew more awful (read: psycho) stories about me than anyone should.

After we walked to the bar together, we started to down shot after shot. Eventually, my friends I had left at the party showed up to drunkenly drag me to a couch to sleep on. I angrily obliged. Couldn’t they see that stud muffin was totally making bedroom eyes at me? After a three hour nap on a friend’s couch, (conveniently, around the corner from stud mufffin’s house) I woke up to multiple text messages from him: “Where are you?” “Comf over” (which I assumed, in sober speak, meant “Come over.”) Still tipsy from all the shots, I walked to his house in record time. (OK, I probably ran.)

And then the inevitable happened. Until eight in the morning.

Around 8:30, I started to come to. I realized where I was and what (who?) I was doing. Basically, I panicked. I was naked and he was sleeping.

I was scared.
I needed my friends.
I needed to pee.

I stood up as quickly as I could and looked out the window to make sure I was actually where I thought I was. However, instead of a road staring back at me, there was a PERSON. Staring. At me. Naked.

And that person happened to be ex boyfriend’s roommate – the same one who happened to hate on me hardcore.

We stared at each other for a couple seconds before he looked away and walked in the house… and I realized that he had just seen me wearing nothing but a shamrock necklace and a look of horror. Terrified, I scurried around the room and gathered my clothes (quietly, of course; I didn’t need to wake up the ex bf and have even more awkwardness). Minutes later, I composed myself and emerged from ex-boy’s bedroom. The roommate was enjoying a nice bowl of cereal on the couch. I hurried past him and thankfully he didn’t even look up from his Lucky Charms to see me out.

Once the door slammed behind me I ran home.
In green tights.