My last year of college was a wild one. Like most people realizing that they have only a few short months left in the wonderland that we call higher education, I spent most of my days skating through class and most of my nights out drinking with my friends. It was a truly great time, and those final semesters are full of memories that I wouldn’t trade for anything. However, like most important times in life, there are highs, and there are lows. And then, nestled in between, there are some things that simply don’t fit in any category but you know will one day make a great story to be shared and laughed about for a long time to come. This is one of those events.
My girlfriend and I were heading back to her place after a long night of drinking, partying, and generally enjoying each other’s company. It was almost early morning at this point, and we were both really drunk and pretty exhausted. We had been dating for some time, and one of the great things about crashing at her place instead of mine was her luxurious bed. She was one of those girls who practically lived in her bed and expended a lot of effort and money to make it as comfortable as possible. Although she had rented a furnished apartment, complete with a very respectable bed already installed, she had moved in her own special mattress to sleep on instead. The thing was huge, with more pillow toppers than sheets and a frame more well-supported than a therapist’s wet dream. She loved that bed. It made my bed look like a pile of bark thatched together with rough twine in comparison.
As she drunkenly fumbled around with her keys at the front steps, I heard her casually note that the door was actually already unlocked and slightly open. This was unusual because both of us were pretty careful about locking the door, but we were too drunk from the night’s activities to care and really just wanted to get to the bed anyway. As she made her way to the bedroom, I made a quick detour to the kitchen for some water, because it’s important to hydrate. That’s when I heard it — the unmistakably surprised shriek of my girlfriend emanated through the apartment as she came rushing back out, bedroom door slamming behind her.
Assuming something trivial, I casually asked what was wrong. In between panicked breaths, she proceeded to tell me that, nestled under the sheets of her most prized possession, was a completely random stranger already passed out and sleeping soundly. Looking to me for guidance, I proceeded to cautiously open her door and see the sight for myself. Indeed, cozied up cocoon-style in the middle of her bed lay a girl completely unknown to us both. I approached her while my girlfriend stood behind me, and being the gentleman that I am, tried to give her a soft shake. Nothing. A tap on the shoulder registered no response. Finally, I decided she must be lulled in by the magical comfort of the bed and went to remove the sheets. That’s when I discovered that this surprise Sleeping Beauty was also completely nude. In her drunken search for sleep, she had decided that it was best to be birthday-suited-up before climbing into a stranger’s bed.
After a few awkward exchanges with my girlfriend, it was decided that she would help this newfound nudist find her clothes while I then waited to escort her outside. After spinning her around a few times and sending her out on her way, I went back inside to see how my girlfriend was doing. The fallout from this strange girl had completely killed the mood, and it was decided that it would be best just to sleep off our alcohol and start fresh in the morning. After climbing in the sheets, we both passed out almost immediately for an albeit restless night of slumber.
Waking up groggily the next morning, I had trouble recollecting what had happened the night before. As I slowly got up to make my way to the bathroom, I noticed a somewhat damp sensation running down my leg. Unusual, I thought to myself, although waking up with unknown substances on my body after a night of drinking wasn’t too out of the ordinary. I didn’t remember getting into anything last night, but I assumed my girlfriend would have the answer when she woke up. Upon inspection in the bathroom, however, my senses were soon thrown into a heightened sense of bewilderment, for smeared across my left leg was a long, sticky streak of blood.
Right at that exact moment, I heard the uncanny sound of my girlfriend yelling hysterically from the bedroom. Scrambling back, I entered to find the sheets ripped off the bed, exposing a dark crimson stain. Perfectly placed at petite pelvic height was an unmistakable splatter of spread blood. As we frantically discussed whether either of us had seen any cuts on last night’s naked stranger, the realization of what had just happened came crashing down upon us all at once like the protagonist of an ’80s-era sitcom. No, the girl from last night hadn’t cut herself. She had menstruated.
Suppressing a growing gag-reflex, I ran back to the bathroom to perform damage control on this stranger’s menstrual residues now tarnishing my leg. Sometimes it seems that they can’t make water hot enough, and no amount of scrubbing can ever make you feel clean again. Emerging like a stunned war-torn refugee, I held my girlfriend close as we decided what to do next. Not only were her sheets practically biohazard material at this point, her perfect mattress was compromised, as well. As we sadly trashed the final pillow top, we took a solemn vow to always lock the door. You never know what could be waiting for you on the other side..