Age (at the time): 21
I was excited to move into my new off-campus house at 5350 Maynard Street that September, and moved in quickly to make sure I finished in time for the first big party of the semester. At this party I polished off a fifth of Smirnoff, staggering out the door with a cigarette falling out of my mouth before it could be lit. The next morning I woke up sitting against the wall, the world spinning around me. I hopped up, took a leak in the sink in the basement, and looked around.
“Hm,” I said, and staggered upstairs loudly.
On my way out the door, I splattered an alien gray couch with vomit and walked outside clapping my hands clean, glad that I wasn’t responsible for the quality of the furniture at 5330 Maynard Street.
Dear John, I’ve got good news and more good news. The first part of good news is that when you get home you can pass out on a couch that isn’t covered in puke. The second piece of good news is that you won’t be having to clean up any vomit, because you managed to do it on someone’s couch. All in all, a win.