[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though most don’t involve a large group of potential sorority sisters) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]
I had the busiest semester ever in my college career because some genius (read: my idiot self) decided it was a good idea to take 18 hours. And work. And hold an officer position in my sorority. Terrible idea in hindsight.
So needless to say, I rarely went out due to my hectic schedule. Plus whenever I got home at the end of the day or when I had spare time, I wanted to spend it doing nothing and sleeping. The weekends were a prime opportunity to rest for half a day before I had to start doing homework and writing papers for my classes. But those few times I managed to go out, I made it count. I really made it count. Especially at my sorority’s last hurrah, the Tacky Christmas party.
If you don’t know what Tacky Christmas is then shame on you. Basically everyone wears tacky sweaters that your grandma made you or wrapping paper dresses, or if you don’t celebrate Christmas, you put a Menorah crafted from pipe cleaners on your head. I opted for a gigantic gift bag from Target, while my ex dressed up as a little kid on Christmas. Oh yeah, did I mention I took my ex as my date? Well, I did. Don’t judge me.
Anyway, I figured as it was my last night out with my friends before finals, I should make the most of it. The ex and I arrived at a pre-game that evolved into a full blown rager before we even made it to the bar. Not only did I take an unknown number of peppermint patty shots (soooo good!), but I also finished a bottle of crappy champagne by myself. I weigh 100 pounds, and hardly drank this semester. You do the math.
We eventually got everyone to migrate to the bar, which was a terribly difficult task since we were having much more fun at the pre-party. I was expecting to get big black X’s on my hands that night, but one of my friends happened to be working the door at the bar and gave beautiful, shiny wristbands to my ex and I. Well, I successfully closed my tab after one beer. See that? I was responsible. But then I stole the ex’s pitcher and drank half of it.
I don’t remember dancing on stage with the rapper. Or grinding in my gift bag. Or going home. But from what I was told here’s what happened:
The ex drove me home and was going to stay with me to make sure I saw the next day (so sweet). When we got to my apartment complex, I decided that I didn’t live on the first floor and ran away. I hid under a stairwell for about ten minutes, and then I continued my adventure up to the third floor where two random guys were cheering me on as the ex chased me down. Finally, he managed to catch me and carry me back to my apartment. My roommate was still awake, which was good because I did everything she said and refused to listen to the ex.
After getting me into my pajamas, they tried to give me water.
me: “NO! It’s a Horcrux!”
me: “It’s a Horcrux! You have to destroy it! Unless you’re Lord Voldemort…”
ex: “Babe, it’s not a Horcrux. Drink your water.”
I don’t remember this conversation but since two out of three people do, I’ll accept it. Apparently I continued to cast spells and begged for my roommate’s wand. She decided I’d poke my eye out and told me it was at Olivander’s for repairs. I was very upset about that.
Eventually, I got sick, drank the Horcrux water after it was destroyed, went to sleep, and had wonderful dreams that I was Harry Potter.
[You think that’s bad? Check out our other cringe-worthy Morning After stories.]