First thing’s first: I hit it off with a random guy at a late night. Thank you, liquid courage. After constant texting the following week, he invited me to his date night. The night before the date night, I went over to his house. In short, we hooked up and I slept over.
The next morning, I woke up to loud music playing in the hallway. The other fraternity brothers were starting to wake up and pregame in the house, preparing to darty. I wanted to leave without anyone recognizing me so, upon departure, my guy told me to disguise myself by putting on an orange bucket hat. Weird—I’m not an old man fishing or a baby on the beach. When I opened the door, the hall was lined with his frat bros who were clapping and chanting, “She loves the D! Yeahhh.” Trying not to come off as super awkward and embarrassed, I decided to go in the complete opposite direction and did the robot out of the house—in the orange bucket hat. I wish I were kidding.
Unfortunately, that night was also the date night. Theme? Champagne and shackles. When I returned to the frat house yet again, my date was already super drunk but we shackled ourselves together anyways. As the night wound down, it was evident that my date was black out, so I told him I was going to head out. He walked me to the door and then dropped his pants in the doorway, trying to initiate sex. Someone walked through and apologized for interrupting. I apologized for his flaccid penis. I immediately left without my shoes.
Report Card: Boy A
Self-Presentation: B-
Compatibility: B
Date Quality: C
A couple of days later, I had my own date night. I felt really strange about the champagne and shackles party with Boy A so, I decided to invite someone else. Later that day, I got a text from a friend saying that they heard Boy B had a “really fun night” the night before. Apparently, he had been arrested at a country concert for having sex in public—exactly what I was trying to avoid with Boy A. Did this deter me from going with him? Sadly, no.
Our date night was great. After a few too many drinks, we left a little early and went back to my apartment. We fell asleep almost immediately. Suddenly at 5:30 am, I woke up to a phone buzzing. Not my phone, but Boy B’s phone. Even weirder, he was gone and his side of the bed was soaking wet. But his clothes were scattered on my floor so I knew he couldn’t have gone far.
I was wrong. Apparently he had run across campus to his frat, trying to “find his iPhone” from his computer. That would explain the buzzing. Next thing I knew, he was back in my apartment—like I wouldn’t notice that he was wearing a completely different outfit than before. I then asked him about my wet bed. He admitted to peeing in my bed but tried to justify it by saying “it only happens I’m drunk and sleep out.” Warn a girl. Also, how many times has this happened? We stripped my bed and went back to sleep.
They say you can’t put a price on love, but my $89 dry cleaning bill would say otherwise. If you’re reading this, Boy B, please accept my Venmo charge.
Report Card: Boy B
Self-Presentation: B-
Compatibility: A-
Date Quality: C-
Illustration by Riley Nelson
