If you haven’t had the sheer terror of waking up in a bed that’s not your own, with your first thought being, “I need to get the fuck out of here,” then you haven’t lived. No, I kid, I kid. Bravo.
For those of us keeping the slut reputation of UCSB alive, this one’s for you.
It doesn’t mean that you need to have blacked out and not know how you got into the bed you’re waking up in, although I’m not ruling that out entirely, but typically the sheer panic mode that endures is due to the inevitable awkwardness that you’ll be forced to replay over and over in your head during your walk of shame.
Unless, of course, you’ve made a ninja-like escape somewhere between the hours of 6 and 7 a.m., in which case it’s safe to assume this isn’t your first rodeo. But, if you do successfully toot it and boot it, you sly dog you, make sure you have all of your stuff with you. If you end up getting back your forgotten items in the same state you left them in, consider yourself lucky. You were outta there faster than a midget in a dunk contest, and let’s face it, people don’t forget.
You know, I don’t know what it is about bras, but they always end up in places they don’t belong: a kitchen cabinet, a tree. Sometimes their roommate will discover it and throw it out. That’s 40 bucks I’ll never see again, and it was yellow — so, yeah, that was a ray of sunshine I lost too.
Sometimes, even a repeat hookup can still make you want to get away, maybe even more so, because of that. When morning sex is out of the question, and you really have nothing witty on hand to say, it is simply time to go. One and done, hit it and quit it, lay without pay, I could go on for days here. Lesson learned: don’t be a lingerer. But what exactly is proper morning after etiquette to assure you won’t be just that?
Let’s face it, no one looks quite as good as they did the night before. It could be because the beer goggles are gone, but add that to the sex hair, running makeup and face creases from your pillow, and well, would you look at that. Shit just got real.
No one can be bothered worrying about someone’s feelings when you look like you just got hit by the hangover bus. But, you know, you have to at least pretend. My go-to move was always to climb over the other (still sleeping) person, but it never worked. You know that saying, “They always come back?” Well, in this case, they always wake up. I’ll be naked in broad daylight looking for my clothes when they happen to catch me.
God, you know? That awkward moment when you’re bent in half gathering your items, and peek back just to make sure you didn’t make the worst mistake of your life the night before, and they’re face down, ass up, making eye contact with you, wondering just the same.
No, the worst possible thing that can happen is when the other person wakes up when you’re in the process of climbing, mid straddle. Let’s not beat around the bush here, no pun intended, one of you has morning wood, so either way you’re about two inches away from hitting up round two. It’s pretty much safe to say that whoever is waking up is down to work off their hangover rather than drowning it in Mexican food.
Well, so far this has all been under the assumption that you didn’t bring the person home to your house, which is most definitely something to be considered. Welcome to the world of stage five clinger. There’s nothing worse than being trapped in your own house. Ditching this one? Lie, my friend, lie. Say your parents are coming, say you have to meet someone for breakfast, do what you gotta do, kid. You were smart enough to get into this school; you’re smart enough to gaucho ass outta there. (Sorry for being school spirited … go soccer).
Anyway, just make sure you follow through with your lie. Don’t start gallivanting around I.V. because you will run into them. Seriously, it will happen. It’s Murphy’s Law or some shit. Look it up.
Unfortunately if these two escape routes fail, no matter whose house you’re shackin’ at, it pretty much leaves you with talking. You can even use the opportunity to become best friends with their roommate. Or, casually insult him or her so that at least two out of the three people in the room want you to be gone.
Really though, let’s not kid ourselves here, text a friend, have them call you and claim they left their keys at your house. That one’s so urgent that you’ll typically get a ride home and you can even act apologetic. It’s brilliant, I promise. Works every damn time.
Be forewarned though, now that you’re out, safe and sound, don’t immediately go to Bagel Café. He or she will undoubtedly have a fucking breakfast club that goes there.
Daily Nexus sex columnist Elizabeth Brooks would rather kick a puppy than be caught naked, hovering over her undergarments.