Well people, it’s always a pleasure to wake up mid-afternoon and drink a juice box. You walk to the bathroom to brush your teeth and find those glamorous (cough cough) souvenirs from the night before, hangover excluded, you know you’ve gotta smile. There’s somewhat irony in the bruised skin on your neck. You don’t regret? You know what I mean, so go ahead and say it: Teeth marks. So I’ll dedicate this story to my friend, which I will not name because this is far from a private and secure site, who woke up this morning and giggled as she remembered last night. A great night, so she says. Long story short, she met a guy, she liked the guy. Your place or mine? Neither.
They left the party, walked a while and this morning, she found herself in a peculiar state of mind, asking herself that one question I hope to never have to ask myself: What was his name again? I know her pretty well so I can tell you one thing: she wasn’t that drunk, people. So why doesn’t she want me to know the guys name? Maybe this story is all made up and she burned herself with her curling iron, but I wouldn’t mind, she lies a lot. The point isn’t whether or not it happened. The point is: Girls, memorize the guys name.
