My first year in business school, I lived in Hyde Park with a male roommate. A hot, Australian with glasses. When females found out I lived with him, they always said the same thing. “You live with Evan? He is hot!”
One night he came home doing the dance of joy. He had just hooked up. Cool. I was happy for him. We got along fine as roommates and I celebrated his successes.
The next morning, I went into the kitchen to find this written on our communal whiteboard.
I gasped out loud. Totally hilarious. He had thrown down the gauntlet.
As the school year went by, the numbers on the whiteboard continued to evolve.
I can’t speak for the accuracy of the numbers since this was way back in 2004-2005. Besides, since then, I’ve been memorizing more pertinent career-focused numbers like deposit growth, loan losses, capital expenditure. But the trend in the numbers got to the point where I was consistently beating Evan. Woohoo!
I think the glaring loss finally became too much for him because he went over and erased the scores, whining, “I can’t believe you’ve hooked up more than I have.”
I don’t remember if we realized it during that discussion or sometime later, but it turns out, I had increased my number every time I even kissed a guy. He laughed, “That’s not what a hookup means!” So he had beat me all along.
Flash forward to the here and now. Last night, I was out until about 2-2:30am, in bed around 3ish. That’s pretty late for me. I’m not a party girl anymore. I woke up this morning and there was a text message from some guy I used to date.
“U still up We were thinking about the End Up”
I silence my phone at night because of the creepy crawly drunk texters. I looked at the time he had sent it. 6:24am!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mind you, he didn’t text, “Are you awake now?”
No. His text clearly asked if I was STILL up. In other words, did I not sleep through the night and was I ready to go clubbing at dawn.
Umm, excuse me? Am I tripping? Find another hookup.