After months of leading me on, the boy I was falling in love with decided to hook up with one of my hall mates. I probably wouldn’t have even found out had I not woken up early that Saturday morning to go for a run…and found him walking down the hall with his shirt inside-out and his shoes in his hand.
I said nothing, just walked by him and ran down the stairs. It wasn’t until I was a mile into my run that I sat down and cried. A big cry. A snot down the face cry. And just as quickly as it came, it was gone. I wiped my nose on my wife beater (which I promptly threw in the garbage when I got home), got up and ran back to my apartment building.
“We going out tonight,” I shouted to my roommate when I got back. “And I’m getting hammered.”
“Uh, OK.” She responded from under her covers. “I’m just gonna need a Gatorade first, but I’m down. What’s the occasion?”
“Ben’s an a**hole.” I sat on her bed and explained what I’d witnessed that morning. She didn’t seem surprised – she’d never liked him – but she supported me anyway. An hour later, we were on our way back from the grocery store, trunk full of Jello shot ingredients.
By the time we made it to the bar that night, our mouths were red from Jello and our minds were blurry from multiple rounds of Franzia pong. So when I spotted Ben across the bar with his friends, I wasn’t sad. Instead I decided I’d ignore him (and by ignore him I mean find someone hotter to go home with to make him jealous.) I made my way to the bar (for a water – yeah, it was that kinda night) when I saw a hot guy in a baseball cap.
“Who’s that guy?” I slurred to my roommate. But before she could answer me, I was already halfway over to him. Fast forward an hour and a few Jager bombs (why is it always Jager bombs with these boys?!) and we’re hailing a cab back to my place and I’m calling my roommate telling her not to come home. Only instead of calling Molly, I called Mom. At 1:00 in the morning.
I hung up as soon as I heard her voice, then promptly turned off my phone. I didn’t need her calling back while I was showing Hottie in the Hat my moves.
The boy and I eventually made it back to my place, cooked some Easy Mac on the stove (yes, I realize now that that was wrong…), then made our way to my room for a little somethin’ somethin’. Eventually, some time near 6 am, we finally passed out.
The next thing I remember, my door is being thrown open and my parents (!!) are standing at the foot of my bed…where I am lying naked….next to someone who’s name I can’t remember….who is also naked.
Yeah, let that one marinate.
Everything that happened next is a bit hazy but apparently this is how it all came to be:
I guess when I dialed “Molly” and got “Mom,” I attempted to hang up the phone but my drunk ass couldn’t hit the right button. Meanwhile, my mother, woken up at 1 am, hears nothing but “help” (which I presume I was saying to the anonymous boy) and a male voice before I hang up. She tried to call back – 11 times to be exact – but the phone was turned off. Expecting the worst, she woke up my dad around 3am and made him drive 4 hours with her to come to campus and check in on me.
Of course, the front door to the apartment was unlocked (woops?), making them more nervous, so my parents let themselves in and then made their way to my room to make sure I was OK.
Which I would have been, had they not showed up. I jumped under the covers, asked them to wait in the living room, and shooed the boy out of my apartment through the back door. Once I had collected myself and chugged a bottle of water, I joined my parents in the living room, ready to apologize one thousand times (and prepared to be completely cut off).
Only I didn’t have to. They were so happy I was safe, they hugged me tightly, thanked God I was OK and then invited me and my “Is that your new boyfriend??” out for breakfast.
And besides the obligatory “Please don’t ever scare us like that again,” we never again spoke of the awkward morning wake up call.