Friday, January 29, 2010

Naked Is Not the New Black

A college friend and I have recently been reminiscing about her husband's first roommate, who went on to be one of the most remarkably bad boyfriends of my life. We have since reconciled, largely because we were friends for a long time before the Dating Disaster, but at the time- let's just say that Eternity for Men still makes me a little ill to this day.

He had clothing issues, i.e., he didn't like to wear clothes and went without whenever he could. As "one of the guys", I quickly learned that I had to clearly announce my presence before so much as knocking on their dorm room door our freshman year. Because he wasn't modest in the least, my friend's husband would make sure he was decently covered before I was allowed in.

When we moved on to dating in our junior year, he was the night-call guy for the county morgue, which operated out of a funeral home situated in an historic house. Since I was a good girl (and uninterested in getting knocked up at twenty), when I went over to study, we actually studied. About a month into the relationship, though, he decided to up the ante.

I got to the funeral home around 9 o'clock to find that he was not waiting for me at the back door as usual. Since that part of town was a little unsavory, he'd always watched for me and come outside to escort me in. This time, I crossed the parking lot quickly and discovered the door unlocked...and his requisite frat boy blue blazer lying in the floor.

When I called out to him, he answered from somewhere toward the front of the building. I moved toward the sound of his voice to find...his tie. Next was the dress shirt and undershirt, followed by belt, then pants, then socks, and then: holy hell. BVDs. At first, I thought it was some sort of joke, and that he'd just strewn his extra clothes all over the floor to be funny.


My idiot boyfriend jumped out of the shadows yelling "SURPRISE!"

Some of my friends may find this a little absurd, but I had never seen a fully nude adult male in my life, and this was not the means by which I wished to gain that knowledge. I screamed, threw his clothes at him, and locked myself in the office. A half hour later, I was still locked in there, sobbing that I was not THAT KIND OF A GIRL as he apologized, swearing up and down that he was fully clothed and it had indeed been a very, very bad joke.

After the breakup, my friends would sometimes call him at work in the middle of the night, put on fake voices, and ask creepy questions about necrophilia. I also wonder sometimes how much he's told his wife about that period in his life. They have a son and I'm just waiting to see how much he takes after Dear Old Dad when he hits college...

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