We’ve all had those moments. The mornings where you come out of your blacked out drunken state to have something hovering over you like a creature from the blue lagoon. A creature that speaks some awful form of English that you may have understood just hours before, but now, not so much. The only word you can make out is some complete stranger calling you “Baby,” and let’s face it, that level of attachment doesn’t even form sometimes with our young, let alone some guy you meet when you’re, dare I say, “tore up from the floor up.”
You squirm around, hoping that at some point the creature will release their death grip on your torso, but no such luck. The only way to make it move is by excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. You look down and can’t find any clothing on the side of the bed. What fucking luck you have, eh? You go to the bathroom, and while the urine is spraying vigorously into the toilet, you think about this mistake you’ve made. You briefly remember the condom in the equation, and thank your lucky stars that you can leave this stranger’s home with some peace of mind that they haven’t infected you with anything. Though, by their eagerness for you to stay and their performance, it is obvious that they aren’t well versed in the ways of sex, and chances are they haven’t brought a girl home in years.
You quickly retrieve your clothing and make a b-line for the door. It doesn’t matter what excuse you have spewing out of your mouth, you just give one. Leaving the scene of the crime is probably the best thing you can do, while sending a guilty text message to a friend requesting that they “kill you now.”
Once you get home from this horrendous adventure, the first course of action is to shower and hopefully rinse more than just the guilt off of you. Perhaps the male fragrance that in someone you’re interested in can be wonderful, but in someone you’re not, it’s just plain BO.
