He Had Curly Blond Hair
Sophomore summer was halfway over and I, like most guys on campus, was looking to get drunk and rub against someone else, preferably a female who weighed less than me. It was Friday night (or Saturday night, or maybe it was a Monday afternoon) and I had just played a lot of pong. As the evening winded down, a cute girl – let’s just call her Valkyrie (she liked Tom Cruise movies; also, her name was Valerie) – came down to my fraternity basement and flirtatiously asked if I wanted to go to her sorority to play one last game. She and her two friends needed a fourth and I, not being one to turn down a game, gladly accepted the invitation. Also, I was wearing a pretty sweet headband.
I don’t really remember how the game went - I think we won, or lost - but what’s important is that I was a rock-star - so much so that after the game, Valkyrie invited me up to her room to “check blitz.” (For those of you unfamiliar with Hanoverian jargon, check blitz means check email, which also means check out my mouth with your mouth.) We messed around for a few minutes - I think I unearthed a boob - but when I proved I was a bit too drunk (N.B. the nose is a not an erogenous zone and should never be treated as such), she kindly asked me to leave. She added, “Let’s do this again. Just not when so much alcohol’s involved.” To be fair, she may have actually said, “Let’s not do this again. You just open-mouth kissed my nose.” Either way, she was definitely into me.
(This is a picture of actor Kevin Bacon playing Dartmouth-style pong at AD. What is it doing here, in a story that has nothing to do with him or AD? We may never know.)The next night, hoping to achieve a similar, yet even steamier outcome, I played a lot of pong. This time, however, Valkyrie didn't show. It was getting late so I went to her sorority to figure out why my carnal desires weren’t being fulfilled. I checked the basement, then every single shower in the sorority (twice), and then her bedroom, to no avail. Annoyed, I turned on her computer and sent her an innocent email.
Valkyrie, I’m in your room, hanging out. You should swing by. The place looks great!
It was getting late, so in a move that can only be described as strategic (or profoundly sketchy), I decided to take a quick nap in her bed. I was exhausted and besides, in a few minutes she’d wake me up, we’d pump some tats, and all would be well.
Suffice it to say, things did not go as planned. When I awoke it was 6:30am, the sun was beaming in, and I was still alone and fully clothed in Valkyrie’s bed. And there was a slight problem: I had urinated everywhere. It was as if I had had a dream, and in that dream I was a powerful rotating sprinkler and her bed was this arid garden that longed for irrigation, which I then provided in copious amounts. Nothing - I repeat, nothing - was left dry. My clothes, including my wallet, headband(?) and sandals: soaked. Her bed, including the mattress, down comforter, sheets, pillows, and headboard: soaked. The carpet and even her Top Gun and Cocktail DVD's: soaked. “Oh no,” I thought. “This is bad.” Panicked, and still pretty smashed, I did the only sensible thing I could: I staggered home fast. When I got to my room I came to a very unsettling realization. My innocent email singled me out as the prime suspect.
It’s times like these when you really need to take a deep breath and think on your toes. I did neither. I turned on my computer and hastily wrote the following: Valkyrie, just wanted to say that I’m sorry we didn’t meet up last night. I waited around your room for an hour or so, and then some drunk guy barged in and crashed on your bed. He probably stayed there all night. He had curly blond hair.
Now I don’t know why I wrote that last part; your guess is as good as mine. But it didn’t work. An hour later she wrote back. “Do you think I’m an idiot?!?!?* Get your ass over here and wash all my stuff. NOW!” Before I could write back, she followed up with another email. “Actually, forget that. I’m taking all of my stuff to the cleaners – and you’re paying for it. All of it. I can’t believe this, or you, or that ridiculous email you sent me.”
The dry cleaning bill was well north of $200 (damn decorative pillows). And because Dartmouth girls can be so petty, I never got a second chance with Valkyrie, despite everything we’d been through together. Anyway, as the story goes, we graduated and eventually lost touch. Then, last week, we ran into one another at our 5-year reunion. Although we chatted for nearly ten minutes, I don’t really recall what we talked about. All I know is she kept moving her mouth and I kept nodding, like I cared or something. I considered asking her about sophomore summer and whether she ever believed – even for a second – in the guy with the curly blond hair, but in the end I decided against it; there was pong to play. “Listen, I’m going to go get another beer and talk to someone else. You take care.”
Now I don’t know why I wrote that last part; your guess is as good as mine. But it didn’t work. An hour later she wrote back. “Do you think I’m an idiot?!?!?* Get your ass over here and wash all my stuff. NOW!” Before I could write back, she followed up with another email. “Actually, forget that. I’m taking all of my stuff to the cleaners – and you’re paying for it. All of it. I can’t believe this, or you, or that ridiculous email you sent me.”
The dry cleaning bill was well north of $200 (damn decorative pillows). And because Dartmouth girls can be so petty, I never got a second chance with Valkyrie, despite everything we’d been through together. Anyway, as the story goes, we graduated and eventually lost touch. Then, last week, we ran into one another at our 5-year reunion. Although we chatted for nearly ten minutes, I don’t really recall what we talked about. All I know is she kept moving her mouth and I kept nodding, like I cared or something. I considered asking her about sophomore summer and whether she ever believed – even for a second – in the guy with the curly blond hair, but in the end I decided against it; there was pong to play. “Listen, I’m going to go get another beer and talk to someone else. You take care.”
*To be honest, she may have said, “Do you think I’m a f!@#ing idiot?!?!? I no longer have that email to confirm.
