Oh Sunday mornings. There’s nothing quite like stumbling out of a lofted dorm bed in last night’s stretched-out leggings, wayward bobby pins dangling from stringy bangs. You brush your teeth, rub the eyeliner crusties from your eyes and attempt to scrub off that not-so-fetching jungle juice stain on your chin. You’re still trying to get the mascara off your cheek when it hits you. Did you text him?
Toothbrush still tucked in your cheek, you fish your Blackberry out from under your pillow, detach it from the charger cord you expertly wove around your bedpost, and cringe. You definitely texted him. Twice. Okay, more than twice, but you essentially said the same thing every time, so it really only counts as twice right?
It’s tipsy texter’s remorse. Drunk dialing’s quieter, slyer little sister. Drunk texting is even more perilous, simply because your chosen target has a tangible message to remember you by the next morning. A tangible message that could very well be forwarded to all your mutual friends. And why stop there? Mutual or otherwise, they don’t have to know you to get a laugh out of your arbitrary capitalization and creative spelling.
And of course, no one ever just types out “hey giRll hye, i mis ur [email protected]! mylife wud sukc witouh u!” Not even near incriminating enough. No, it’s always a text to that douche face ex-boyfriend you never really gave up on, or that dreamboat in your stats lecture whose number you covertly acquired under the pretense of a review session. And you always have a killer intro, like “jst so u know, i nevr do tihss,” or “HELLLLLLLLO! gues where I amm rhgit now?” or “i’m soooooio hppay u hireD me for the smmuer!”
Okay, so it’s obviously not exactly ideal to piece together your evening by reviewing your outbox in the A.M. But it’s so easy, not to mention drunkenly satisfying, to type out a quick T9 letting your high school nemesis know exactly what you think of her and her stupid Lacoste gym shoes. How do you avoid the temptation to broadcast just how much fun you are having to your entire contact list?
The Designated Dialer
This is where the DD swoops in. In addition to her role as designated driver, she moonlights as the designated dialer. A multitalented catch, not only does she haul your tipsy tush home, she proofreads your impromptu SMS sonnets before you hit send. If need be, she might even conveniently lose your phone in her wristlet, only to restore it to you the next morning with an eyebrow raised, you-so-owe-me face.
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
And if your DD doesn’t want to babysit your booze intake AND your outbox, then it might be time to leave that cell at home. You may have to work up to it – you know, ten-minute intervals without checking your texts before graduating to half-hour windows. As long as one of your friends has a phone, do you really need it? I don’t want to leave girls open to shady situations (the art of a faked phone call is still my escape route of choice) but maybe bury that ‘berry in the bottom of your totebag, or away in some interior pocket with extensive, complicated zippers?
Unfortunately, until Apple creates some sort of breathalyzer application in addition to iCal, drunk texting will always be a late night pitfall. Resist the urge—I don’t know about you guys, but I am so much wittier sober.
Alright, I wanna hear them. Drunk texting horror stories? Alternative methods to avoiding embarrassing cellular situations? The funniest drunk text you’ve ever received? Yes please.
[Picture courtesy of AmyMichelle on Flickr]