To every girl who has ever laid awake, eyes wide with the horror at what is sure to go down as the most unfortunate night of your college experience, I solute you. As you listen to the buzz saw snoring of some frat guy who’s name you think might be Brayson or Oliver – whatever, you reflect on the saddest 3 minutes of your sexual history. This is nothing like the time your roommate went home with the godlike bartender who proceeded to rock her world – 5 times to be exact. So unfair.
While some girls are doing the stride of pride to brunch, full of stories to make everyone jealous, others are downing Bloody Mary number 4; good luck trying to forget the fact that blue eyes had a one-man party by himself before passing out in a mess you need to clean.
One-night stands are an unspoken right of passage in college. It’s something that almost everyone does and though there are mixed reviews, you know you love sharing your battle stories over mimosas. The only downside to this experience is the lack of a guarantee. Okay, maybe it’s naïve to expect a good result every time. Before embarking on this journey, which is essentially like flying blind, you have to be prepared that it’s going to be either a huge hit, or a huge miss.
Let’s talk about the hits. Hallelujah, am I right? Nothing will leave you floating on cloud nine like stumbling through your front door at 9 a.m. and hopping into bed with your best friend to brag about how Christian Grey has nothing on the guy with the green eyes who bought you coffee this morning. It almost seems cruel to everyone else who doesn’t get to experience this paradise.
Someone call Maya Banks, last night deserves to be memorialized in a romance novel. I wish I could say that this happens more often than it doesn’t but we all that is not true. The misses, the war stories, the tales of smashing your head on the ceiling cause your stupid dorm bed is lofted, is what rules this discussion.
Cheers to the misses. A horrible one-night stand is even more a right of passage than just the experience itself. I’m even going to declare that this is the moment you truly become a woman. Can you really say you are a woman until you have desperately texted your sister begging her to call you with a fake emergency cause “can’t-get-it-to-work” Carl refuses to leave your bed?
Are you really a woman if you’ve never been haunted with the memory of that foreign guy who was so small he literally could not do anything other than crush you while you just waited for it to be over? I don’t know. I think not. As tragic and horrible as these encounters might be, it’s never going to stop you from trying again.
We love to compare scars. I truly believe the bad hook up is something that unifies all young women together. So the next time you are sprinting back to your place, heels in hand, questioning if anything actually happened last night because it really didn’t feel like it did, just know that there are at least 15 other women who had it way worse.
So to every girl reading this while waiting outside for a cab, I drink to you. If guys can dish about how we’re all crazy, and talk about their stories – well, we can write about ours. Stigmas be damned. Enjoy the hits, laugh at the misses, and write a piece to be published about that one time you slept with half of your friends roommates and set your best friend up with the good one and saved your other friends from the guy who would give Ted Bundy something to fear at night.