Chicks Dig Dirt
In college I had this dirty friend/suite-mate. (For context, the suites had four bedrooms that shared a common living room. Two bedrooms and a bathroom on either side of the living room. This particular friend and I lived on the same side.) No, I don’t mean that he was dirty in that he was trying to sleep with every girl he saw (although, I had one or two of those friends too). I mean he was dirty as in… like… dirt. He was bad. There were days on end that he’d go without showering. (I’m assuming he wasn’t showering because he wasn’t doing it in the morning before class or at night before bed. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.) He rarely washed clothes. He lived as if throwing his dirty laundry into a pile on his bedroom floor somehow made them clean enough to wear again and again. Also, dude never washed or changed his bed sheets. Over the course of a school year, he just decided that one set of sheets was enough. By the end of the spring semester, those joints were mad dingy. And to top it all off, his room smelled like the armpit of Hades. I hated when he opened his door.
So based on those facts, what would you infer about ol’ buddy’s luck with the ladies? If you guessed that he continuously struck out because girls have working noses and are quickly turned off by dudes who smell like hot garbage soaked in skunk manure, you’d be wrong. Somehow, this negroid was a hit with women. Were these women cute? Nah, but they had nice personalities… or something. The point is that he was winning… kinda.
I’d see it play out the same way time and time again. He’d meet some girl on campus, then in a week or so they’d be cuddle buddies… in his room… even though it smelled like the kind of funk that makes you wish you never had the ability to smell. He had several of them. One in particular was extremely memorable. I never asked him about this incident, so I can only give you my account of it. Here goes:
One Tuesday afternoon, as I was sitting in my room with my door open doing homework as any exemplary student would, I heard him and a girl come in the front door. He saw my door open before walking into his room and decided to introduce her to me. For the sake of this post, we’ll say her name was Monique. She was the best looking girl he’d ever had over by a long shot. She was fine.
They went into the room and watched TV for about an hour, then it got weird. Furniture started moving. He walked out of the room, pulled all the pillows off the couch in the living room, and took them back into his room. He looked annoyed. She giggled a lot. Then she leaned into my room and said, “Hey, we’re building a fort! Do you want to help?!”
Now, having never met me, you’d never know that I sometimes have a hard time controlling what my face says. I’m generally a quiet person, but my face says a whole lot even at times when I don’t intend for it to. This must have been one of those times, because she reacted to my face with this strange look of confusion that I can’t explain. I remember thinking, “How can she be confused? How dare she! You are a grown woman, and you just asked me to help you build a fort out of pillows and my suite-mate’s soiled, stank, musty, evil sheets. You don’t have the right to be confused. That right belongs to me, ma’am. I am confused.”
Instead of voicing that, I fixed my face and responded with a simple “Nah, I’m good. I need to get this homework done. Thanks though!” That seemed to satisfy her. She giggled and went back to building. I continued to do homework.
At around 9:30pm, she walked out of his room wrapped in one of his formerly white sheets, looked in my room, and said, “Booooooo! I’m a ghost!” Then she went back in his room. Again, I was confused. 15 minutes later she walked out of his room with the sheet wrapped around her like a cape. She went into the living room and started jumping off stuff, presumably trying to fly. After she failed, she went back into his room.
At about 11pm, I decided to get ready to go to bed. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when the two of them walked out of his room. He walked her to the door, and she left. He walked back toward his room, saw me in the bathroom at the sink, and just stood in the doorway. He didn’t say anything, just stood there. He hung his head, then walked into his hellishly funky room and closed the door. He never spoke of her again, and I didn’t ask. She never came back, and I never saw her on campus.
I can’t even imagine what their conversation was like that evening. I mean, she didn’t seem like the type of person that… you know… knows stuff. I’d imagine that the conversation was devoid of intelligence. It clearly drained him. I felt bad for him.
You see why that’s memorable? Crazy, right? I should also let you know that I made most of that story up. I wasted your time again. *sad face* There are pieces of truth in that story, buuuuuut it’s largely a lie. I’ll leave it to you to figure out what’s what…
One of these days, I may tell you some real stories from college. I could tell you how I crossed Marcus up on the basketball court so bad that I gave him arthritis in both knees. Or I could tell you about the time I dunked on Chris so hard that he literally wept for an hour. Or I could tell you about how I put so much fear in Deshawn’s heart that he never wanted to see me on the court. I’d tell those stories, but those are my boys and I don’t want to put all their business out in these streets. So that’s it for the day.
Until next time…