On a Futon… Three’s a Crowd

I am a little fuzzy on when exactly this took place. Mostly because I was extremely inebriated and most of the night is like a fuzzy dream (This usually means that I had an awesome night).

I can narrow it down to sometime in 2008, fall I think.

My brother-in-law was living near the University of Minnesota, just outside of Dinkytown, in an apartment on 15th & Como. My wife and I were in the area (at a bar of course) so we decided that we would head over for a little college fun.

I tend to over indulge when I am excited about a party which leads me to often conclude my night earlier than I would like. And when I walked into that apartment on the basement floor I got very excited. This was a college apartment on steroids that made me yearn for the days of going to school.

There was no organization to speak of. It looked like a garage sale threw up in the apartment. It was beautiful.

The door opened up into the living room and kitchen. It smelled like the locker room of a brewery in a cigarette smoking factory (it smelled like college). The living room had a black futon immediately inside the door with a mattress that had definitely seen better days.

In front of the futon stood a coffee table full of empty cans, bottles and paraphernalia for, um, other activities. There was a small TV on the wall opposite the futon sitting on something that wasn’t designed to hold a television with an XBOX on the floor in front of it. The rest of the furniture looked like it had probably been picked up off the street that fall during the moving weekend. To some people the room would seem dirty and gross, but I felt right at home.

The kitchen had a pile of empty pizza boxes and 12 packs of orange soda in the corner which I assume had a garbage can, but at this point it was more of a formality. The linoleum floor was so sticky you could hear it when people walked on it. The counter was occupied by 1 half full, another half-dozen empty bottles of Admiral Nelson (a higher ranking yet cheaper version of Captain Morgan), a few empty cans of orange soda and 4 or 5 shot glasses.

Luckily I had brought beer for myself, because the only drink being served by our gracious hosts were shots of rum with an option of an orange soda chaser (I did try one, I didn’t want to be rude).

The gathering was exactly what you would expect – loud music, loud conversation and laughter with a group of five or six 19-20 year old kids with frequent cigarette breaks outside the main door of the apartment building. One young lady in particular appeared to be having a lot of fun and we got along great… we will call her Jane (that is not her real name but… well, you’ll see).

One of the few things I can remember from that night is telling her that she seemed to really like to party. She confirmed that she did.

The rest is a blur. The last thing that I remember is struggling to keep my eyes open as everyone else continued the party (I did it again, I had way to much fun way to fast).

I woke up laying on the futon in a completely dark room. The party had ended. My wife slept with me on the outside of the futon that remained in it’s couch form, not bed form.

Trying to figure out the time, I bounced in and out of sleep. Then, a third person seemed to be trying to get on the futon on the other side of my wife. I had my arm wrapped around my wife’s body (classic spoon formation). The movement stopped. I thought that I imagined another person joining us on the futon when I felt it. The unmistakable soft, squishy texture of…

A boob.

I froze. There were no clothes on this boob. This was a naked boob. This was not my wife’s boob. I didn’t know what to do. But here I was sleeping with my wife with a hand on a boob that was not hers.

My wife woke up and said, “Honey, what are you doing?”

Uh oh, I thought, this is not good.

I did what I think any guy would do, I pretended that I was still asleep and slowly removed my hand from the boob.

Then she said, “Where are your clothes?”

Am I naked?, I thought. I hadn’t checked that. Did someone take my clothes off? … I realized that she wasn’t talking to me, she was talking to Jane.

See, Jane had gotten naked, then decided that she was going to squeeze under the blanket on the futon with us.

I decided I could stop pretending to be asleep at this point and said (in my best groggy, sleepy voice, “wha-what is going on?”

My wife put her hands over my eyes and said, “go back to sleep.” It was not a request.

She then instructed Jane to go put her clothes on and go to bed. She then laid back down and explained to me what had happened (because I was asleep, remember?)

Then, minutes later, we heard a noise in the kitchen.

“What is that?” I whispered to my wife.

“I don’t know” she said.

“It sounds like somebody spilled something…”

My wife shot up out of the futon and ran to the kitchen telling Jane that she needed to go to the bathroom right away.

Jane was pissing in the middle of the kitchen floor.

My wife came back to the futon and we laughed quietly in the way that seems to make a funny situation even more funny.

Man, I miss college.

Cheers.

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