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Typical Fraternity/Sorority Date Function Interaction

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Last week, a fraternity gentleman invited a sorority lady to his date function via text (read it here). The following is the scenario in which they attend said date function together. Their thoughts are in italics, and the conversation is in plain text.


Him: That shower beer was the best decision I’ve made all day. Now, the pivotal decision for anyone in a Hugh Hefner costume: What kind of boxers do I wear under this fucking robe? What kind of underwear would a greasy old man living in a mansion with beautiful women wear? I can’t believe I’m actually asking myself this question. Golden Retrievers? Nope, I see Hef having a more docile pet. Budweiser print? I’m sure he’s crushed quite a few in his day but still doesn’t feel right. Sailboats? He would definitely rock the sailboats. Let me just grab that Cuban Davis snuck back from his trip to Acapulco. Costume: completed. Can’t believe it took me a whole 20 minutes to get ready for this, Amber better fucking put out tonight. Speaking of, I better call her a pledge ride…I did tell her 9 o’clock after all.

Her: Omg, I can’t believe it’s 8 o’clock and I’m nowhere near ready. What am I wearing? Ok, the corset and booty shorts is super cute and I look like mega hot. But the problem is Lindsayyyy is probably going to be there. Bitch. Which means I need to look super hot. But I really can’t look like a slut. But I have to look perfect tonight. I think I’m finally going to sleep with him. It’s really the perfect night to consummate our relationship. Haha, “relationship.” Who am I? He’s been so great, it’s definitely time. Shit. 8:15. Naked time is over. Focus, Amber. You need to get ready. WHAT ARE YOU WEARING. I really just want him to look at me and think “SEX.” Decisions. “YOU GUYS! I’M HAVING AN OUTFIT CRISIS, I NEED HELP!!! COME HERE NOWWWWW!!!” Ok, they’re right, I can’t do the booty shorts. This isn’t my function, it’s his. Black dress it is. Maybe I’ll add in some fishnets for good measure. FUCK! I only shaved one leg! It’s 8:30!!! How many years do I have to be shaving my legs before I stop doing that? Ok, silky smooth. 8:45. All I have to do is finish curling my hair, put all my make-up on and get dressed. In 15 minutes. It’s ok. 9 o’clock probably doesn’t really mean 9 o’clock. “I NEED SOMEONE TO CURL THE BACK OF MY HAIR WHILE I DO MY MAKE-UP! PLEASE AND THANK YOU! YOU’RE PRETTY!” 9:04 and I pulled it all together! I’m like a God or something. And I look awesome. I better if I’m going to be sleeping with him tonight! Omg, I’m sort of nervous! I haven’t done this in so long. I’m getting anxious. I need a drink. Where is my ride? 9:06. I need to put on another coat of mascara. 9:07 Fifth coat of mascara it is. Geez, my eyelashes look so good they almost look fake right now. I should wait for people more often. It does wonders. AHHH!!! MY PHONE IS RINGING! Who is this number? It’s def the pledge. “Hello? You’re outside? Ok I’ll be right out.” Let me just re-tease my hair real quick. He can wait a few minutes. I had to. Where are my shoes. Shoes. “HAS ANYONE SEEN MY…” Oh, here they are “NEVER MIND!” Ok, shoes, keys, phone, ID, one last mirror check before I leave. A little extra hairspray. Aaannd here I go.


Him: Finally they’re here, time to assess how slutty my bunny is going to be tonight. Fingers crossed for booty shorts. Annnnnnndd….tight black dress? Holy cleavage, I can work with this, easy access too. “Amber! Hey, you look great! You excited for tonight?”

Her: Of course I look great. And you should have seen me ten minutes ago in the fucking car. What kind of douche doesn’t come with to pick me up? I can’t believe I was going to sleep with this asshole tonight. “Hiiii!!! Yeah I’m excited! You’re such a handsome Hef!” I need a drink stat. The awkward in here is suffocating me.

Him: “Haha, thanks sweetheart. The pregame is down the hall, but I forgot to tell you about this new thing we’re trying out. Our social chair saw this idea online, it’s like a ‘cops and robbers thing,’” Even though we already have a famous couples theme. Oh well. “Everyone’s going to be handcuffed to their dates, and the key is going to be at the bottom of our bottle of liquor.” Basically, we will be getting incoherently drunk before we even arrive at the bartab. “That okay with you?”

Her: That okay with you? Like I have a choice. This is going to be so awkward. We’re going to be so drunk, omg. “Ah! So fun! That’s super clever!”

Him: “Alright, well we’re all latched up, looks like you’re stuck with me until we get some drinking done…shots?”

Her: Thank God. “Oohhh Definitely! What’d you get?”

Him: The fucking bottom tier, nail polish-esque form of liquor. I literally felt my Y-Chromosomes disown me when I bought it. “Some Pomegranate Smirnoff. I know how you love your Vodka.”

Her: Should have been Burnett’s, but I guess Smirnoff is more expensive. Nice work. “Omg Pomegranate is my favorite!” Wait, he remembered that? Maybe he’s not an asshole. I love himmmmm. Ok, I was right. Green Light tonight, buddy.

Him: “Well bottoms up. This first shot is for America.” I fucking can’t stand Vodka. It tastes like this Orange Juice was mixed with gasoline. “Uhh second shot? Also for America.” Also tastes like shit. Look at this girl, not even making your typical sorostitute post-shot sourface. What a champ. “Third shot?”

Her: “Haha, I’m ready when you are. You’ll have to be keeping up with me!” Vast exaggeration. But I can handle more than three shots. What is this, amateur hour?

Him: “Sixth shot goes to…who fucking cares, let’s just take it.” This is all going to hit me at once, I just took six shots in 20 minutes.

Her: Six already! It normally takes me the whole time I’m getting ready to get to 6. “I think I have to pee.” Blurting random shit. I’m drunk. Wait, I do think I have to pee though.

Him: How did no one foresee this problem? “Umm, we’re handcuffed together still…and the key is still in the bottom of this bottle. This half full bottle.”

Her: “Ok, let’s cheat. Because I super have to pee. Plus, we want to win.” Is it even a contest? Who cares. I still want to win.

Him: “I’m all for breaking the rules, let’s make a few strong ass mixed drinks to sip on.”

Her: “Yes I agree. Let’s make three though. We’ll make a water bottle for the bus too. We need to be inconspicuous. I won’t let you look like a bitch. Everyone will know you have the best date here.” I’m so considerate. And by considerate, I mean, if I don’t break the seal, I am literally going to deteriorate, starting from my bladder. This is the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I’m about to pee right here.

Him: What a sweetheart. Unfortunately, to be the best date here you’re going to have to set me up an appointment with those cloudlike bags of joy on your chest. “Okay, I made the drinks…but there’s still a few shots left…Um, do you want to finish it or should I?” God damn I’m a gentleman, but please take the pull. It feels like I’ve been drinking pom-flavored battery acid all night.

Her: That’s like still a lot more shots. If I drink that I might actually die. Which might be an easier way to go than from the bladder infection that is undoubtedly manifesting itself on my insides. “I’ll take one more, but you have to do the rest.”

Him: *takes pull* Don’t throw up. Keep it down, FUCK that tasted awful, concentrate Thomas. Deep inhale, and you’re good. This better be worth it.

Her: Is it bad that I’m secretly turned on by guys’ ability to drink this vile shit with no chaser. The dumbass-ness that is occurring right now is so hot. “YOU’RE A CHAMP! Seriously, you’re my hero. Now, key. Bathroom. NOW!”

Him: “It…won’t…fall…out. Wait, got it. Here you go!” Simple body functions becoming difficult. Blackout imminent.

Her: Wow, IIIII can’t even balance over the toilet right now. “hahaha” I’m laughing out loud. By myself. In the bathroom. “Hahahahah.” Stop that, you awkward psycho. Nothing is funny. Fuck, there’s no toilet paper. Eww. How could he let me pee with no toilet paper. Jerk. I’m not sleeping with him. Whatever, finally getting to pee was the best feeling I’ll get all night anyway. Drip dry I guess. Fuck. There’s no soap. Whatever, getting the hell out of this grimey, germ-infested death chamber they call a bathroom. I’m going to puke if I’m in here for one more second.

Him: Bus leaving soon? Should get on that. Walking…not as easy as I remember. Are my shoes untied? Should I check? Nope, keep your balance, fight through it…..Wait, when did I get on the bus? Are we moving already? What is this amorphous red jellyfish being thrown in my face? Franzia bag? Sure, why not.

Her: “Ah, Franzia! Would you still like me if I slapped the bag right now?” I’M. SO. CLASSY.

Him: It’s only making me want you more. “Slap away! Be sure to get some shoulder into it!” Franzia slapping already? I’m definitely going to moisten the old shaft tonight…Is that the bar? That bus ride literally felt like it was two minutes long. Are we really here already?


Her: “Thomassssssss. Ugh, Lindsay is hereeee. I knew she’d be here. Thomas, I hate her. She’s staring at me. Do I look like a slut? Is that why she’s staring at me? Thomas I hate herrr. I want to say something.” I hate date functions. I hate every girl who isn’t me. I wish my Big were here. I can’t do this. This is literally awful.

Him: Jesus Christ, don’t say anything, Wallace would kill me if my date cockblocked him tonight. “Don’t worry about her, let’s just try to ignore all that tonight.” Don’t get in a bad mood, you’re infinitely less likely to get naked when you’re in a bad mood.

Her: Wait, does that mean he thinks I look like a slut! I can’t sleep with him if he thinks I’m a slut! “No, I mean, I like won’tttt. But she just makes me so mad!”
Him: My odds are getting more and more slim, I really need to do something to get her mentally planted on my dick. “Don’t worry about it, let’s just go dance.”

*Dancing, Grab-ass, MOing, Bathroom/Whiskey Double. Dancing, Grab-ass, MOing, Bathroom/Whiskey Double.*

Her: “My feet hurt.” Stripper heels may have been a poor decision on my part. “Can we sit for a little?”

Him: “Yeah, sure. We’ll grab a seat at the bar.”

Her: “Is Lindsay coming over here? Tell me I’m being crazy and she just wants a drink and she’s not trying to ruin my night.” But I’m not being crazy. She’s a bitch, and she’s trying to ruin my night. Her very existence is ruining my night. I almost forgot about her.

Him: Seems a little excessive for her to order her drink right between us. Maybe this girl really is a bitch? Great ass though. Good for Wallace.

Her: Is he checking her out? Right in front of me? He must be BRAIN DEAD! I hate him so much. I don’t even think I’m going to have a sleepover with him tonight. I can’t believe he’d do this to me. And fucking Lindsay MOVE. Amber do not say anything. You were having a great time before. She just hates that you maybe accidentally made out with her ex-boyfriend right after they broke up. You didn’t do anything wrong. She’s just a bitch. You’d hate you too in her shoes. Do NOT say anything. WHAT THE FUCK BITCH! Vodka cran is NOT a good look on me!

Him: Did she actually just…spill that drink on Amber? I’ve never seen that in real life. What the fuck, I literally have no shot in the world now. Where the fuck is Wallace, he needs to get this bitch in line. “HEY FUCKING WALLACE! Keep an eye on your drunk ass date man, she’s all over the place. Completely unnecessary.”

Her: Omg! Did he just…defend me? Omg. I’m so happy. Omggggg!!!! He really cares about me! That was so amazing of him. He really is a great guy, I think. That was SO nice. I can’t believe he yelled at his pledge brother for me. Maybe he’s not a jerk at all.

Him: “Sorry about that Amber, everything ok?” Aside from the fact that there’s literally zero possibility of me getting in that tonight.

Her: “It’s ok, thanks so much for doing that.”

Him: “I think the buses are leaving soon anyway, you about ready to get out of here and go home?”

Her: Not alone, I hope. I was right. Tonight is the night. Casual hand on thigh. Smile. “Can’t wait.”

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