It was a bumping Wednesday evening the Spring of my Freshman year of college. After a night of vigorous studying, I decide to turn in early and ascend the grand ladder to my bunk. As I lay there drifting to dream land, I hear the fumbling of my roommate returning from an elegant soiree known as Wasted Wednesday.
Being the seasoned vet that I am in this scenario, I know it’s best not to open my eyes and let the drunk darling know that I am awake. I double down, slow my breathing and lie motionless as to not be discovered.
HAHA! My plan has seemingly worked, I hear the tipsy teen making her way into bed. I calm my mind and settle in for the night.
Suddenly there is a simple “HI!” yelled in my face.
My eyes pop open to discover the befuddled beauty has climbed the side of my bed and positioned her face about an inch from mine. I naturally go into self-protection mode and opt for the hit and run. I hit her square between the eyes as I pop up to make my escape. She loses her balance, drops to the floor like an uncoordinated toddler and hits her head on the way down.
SHIT! Did I just kill my roommate?! I am mid-freak out when she comes to— THANK GOD! I think to myself, “She was only out for a couple seconds. We’re good here.”
As she rubs her head, she slurs, “What happened?”
I know I need to be honest. It was a simple mistake; she will surely understand. “You fell,” I explain while doing the classic not guilty shoulder shrug. I know what you are thinking, I am a terrible person. NOT TRUE, I poked her every couple of hours to make sure she was still alive. So, if that doesn’t win me roommate of the year, I don’t know what else would.
Now don’t worry, we are still good friends and she still has no memory of that night. So being that good friend, I still remind her of the time her drunk ass fell off the bunk bed and knocked herself out. Maybe I’ll come clean in another few years— OR NEVER.
Comments