Going into my senior year of college I promised myself one thing: that I would get all of my “college kinks” out of my system. And by college kinks I mean never saying “no” to a night out on the town, doing a pedal-pub (Editor’s Note: how did I not know about this!?), and mixing hot apple cider and Goldschlager for at least one football game. I know, I’ve got priorities and clearly the utmost class. One thing I did not include on this Senior Bucket List, however, was making out with a freshman. I thought I was better than that. I would not sink that low, and if I did I most definitely would not enjoy it.
But, I was wrong. So, so wrong.
The night began innocently enough. Actually, way innocently. We were at a house party dancing to J-Beebs ‘One Time’ and sipping on keg beer. What a night, right? Then, before I knew it, I found this adorable looking gentleman who knew every word and decided to sing it to me. Then, his arm was around me and I admitted something I should be ashamed of: my future Justin Bieber concert attendance (this is what happens when college boys belt out “Me plus you, I’ma tell you one time”).
Needless to say, we fell in love. He hugged me and asked me to marry him. We talked about Justin Bieber‘s new album…
“You call him J-Beebs too?! I need to marry you, can we get married?!”
“Yes, I do! I do!”
Then, all within a matter of a few blissful moments – surrounded by sweaty college students while being bathed in Coors Light sploshing from red cups – he exclaimed, “I just want to kiss you right now” and landed a big wet one on my mouth. The fist pumps turned to slow motion, everything around us turned to a blur…. wait, is that Barry White playing in the background? We kissed some more. I closed my eyes and, dare I say it, saw a few little hanging stars. It was love.
In the middle of a college house party, there was one less lonely girl.
For not being a big fan of PDA, it was my new favorite past time for the rest of the evening. So when the house party was eventually busted, I was actually bummed I was old enough to stay there… while he bolted.
Later, I took my twitterpatted little self home to the comfort of my own bed and Facebook homepage and did a little creeping investigating. Once I found his profile, I was shaken awake from my sickening bliss and zeroed in on his birth date: 1991. As in, the same year Rugrats premiered. That made him a not-quite-ripened freshman.
I was only briefly agitated by my fate. How did I not make it one more week without locking lips with a little froshy boy?!? Then I remembered that I was in college and, really, age is just a number. So what if he’s a baby? What we had, a mutual love of J-Beebs, was real.