You got home.

We met at a party. It was late, I was drunk, and you were there. I told you my plans of going home and making some blue box macaroni and cheese, and you told me you were a classically trained chef. I wasn't drunk enough to believe you, but I thought maybe some assistance with cooking would possibly help prevent me from starting a fire in my apartment. I let you walk me home, and by the time we arrived I was too tired to think about eating. I decided, against my better judgment, to let you stay over. You tried to convince me to sleep with you. I said no. You tried to convince me to pleasure you. I said no. You then excused yourself to go to the bathroom, when I decided I would lock you out of my bedroom… until I heard the all too familiar sounds of puking coming from down the hall. Since I'm a semi-decent person, and was afraid I would eventually have to clean something up, I decided to check on you. The bathroom door was open, and you were praying to the porcelain god… wearing only your t-shirt & tighty whities...that unfortunately for you were not so tight.

I screamed and ran back to my room to attempt to locate your pants. Being that I was quite intoxicated and forgot to turn the light on, the mission turned out to be quite unsuccessful. You finished your business, came back down the hallway, and started to put your shoes on. I told you that you could stay on the couch. You refused. I told you that you couldn't possibly go home in this state. You refused. I told you that there was no way you could walk home without your pants on. You told me, "Don't worry. It's happened before."

I still to this day do not know how you managed to get home with no pants, no cell phone, and no keys.

-Submitted by Neelloc.