This was a shock to me.
I receive a text. “Come over” is all that was said. I delayed my response because I was balls-deep in a PSYC-100 pre-lab. This is a critical point in my university career. If I can’t take the most basic of courses seriously, how am I supposed to maintain an exceptional framework for doing work? Another text was sent. More dramatic this time: “My parents aren’t home.” I found this to be a weird statement coming from my girlfriend as a student living away from home I would assume her parents were not at her house. Her housemate, Dixie, is kind of like the house mom. She is most likely to be home as she thinks she is too cool to do anything other than watch Friends. That doesn’t make you cool Dixie! Nothing will make you cool! Anyhow, so I take the bait on this text message as I just finished all my work for the night. I send back a witty response and a meme to ease the tension. I receive another text containing what can only be described as peach, water droplets, and eggplant. I am by no means a culinary expert but one of these things is not like the other.
I am walking to her house when I run into some friends I had not seen in awhile. I stop, and we exchange pleasantries. The whole time my phone continues to go off. This is unusual. I am not popular. I have a small core of friends that I see on a regular enough baises for them to not need to text me. I do not have any other plans for the night that I am making. I check my phone subtly; just enough to let my friends know this conversation could be over now, or we can continue to chat if deemed appropriate. There it is again. The peach, the water droplets, the eggplant. Being a hip student, I should know what this means, but I simply do not.
I arrive at my girlfriend’s house and let myself in as normal. A strange aroma fills my nose: Candles and flowers. Two things that I know should go together but am still not sure why. Remind me off that time I was homesick and the mailman came over and stayed a little longer then I feel appropriate for a mail man to stay in one's parents bedroom. Let’s not think of that again. I go right to her room because I sure as f*** am not talking to Dixie about friends again and find the door to be closed. I knock and a whisper of an answer tells me to come in. There she is my girlfriend wearing nothing but sweatpants and chip crumbs beckoning to come forward.
It hits me! My girlfriend wants to have sex with me! She has been having premarital sex with me the whole time! How am I going to tell my grandmother about this? I faint.
by Why did you read this piece of shit article