My best-friend P.J. and I once woke up in a Parisian twin bed with a boy neither of us was interested in smashed between us.
Before your minds start wandering towards threesomes, let me just preface by saying that the major concern upon awakening had nothing to do with who had potentially made out with whom.
We had an entirely different battle on our hands.
She and I awoke before the boy, who remained passed out during the next twenty minutes as in fits of hysterical laughter we attempted to piece together the evening before-and properly identify the culprit of the ‘bed-wetting’ scene in which we had found ourselves.
That’s right, my jeans from the night before were wet, the boy appeared soaked, and P.J. was suddenly wearing her p.j. pants-which she had most definitely NOT fallen asleep in.
That’s correct dear readers-P.J. had wet the bed, well-primarily the boy, and myself before drunkenly stuffing her pants in a hamper and then throwing on p.j. pants and crawling back onto the TINY mattress.
So it was we found ourselves in a fit of hysterics as the sun woke up and we attempted to prepare ourselves for morning classes. I remember laughing so hard that I fell over while trying to change pants. P.J. couldn’t breath from fit of hysterics as we managed to devise a plan to ‘cover-up’ the unfortunate-urine situation.
So it was that I poured a bottle of Sprite over the boy, and we left him there as we scampered off to class-hoping he would assume that he was covered in only the sugary-sweet beverage, and not-the unfortunate bodily fluid in which he was currently snoozing.
This was ten years ago-and I have to say-to this day I love P.J. so much, were she to do it again-I’d laugh just as hard and come up with some way to fool the boy.
Though it could be more challenging considering that the adorable man she sleeps next to now is about to be her husband-and would likely know something was amiss.