During my interview with the Crimson, the reporter asked if I ever fictionalized entries on this blog. I admitted to dramatizing conversations but never outright fabricating events or people. Besides, I’m no good at fiction, and often times, real life is stranger than anything I could ever invent. An incident this morning proves my point. Even for the girl who’s done everything, this was certainly a new experience.
Disclaimer: If you’re squeamish, stop reading right this second.
So I’m going about my business in the pseudo privacy of my bathroom stall, when I feel a funny, wriggly sensation down there. PLOP! I look down and it’s a … condom?! Scrunched up and floating in my toilet bowl, it’s definitely a condom.
What. The. Fuck. The only explanation I can think of is that in the middle of really drunk sex, we lost track of one of the condoms used. And it just went unnoticed for the next 24 hours until my vagina expelled the unwelcome intruder.
I reported the strange occurence to my blockmates, who reacted with memorable facial expressions and speechlessness. I’m sure I currently have readers squirming in their seats and/or informing their roommates of the Mather girl who found a condom in herself.
Clearly, I have no shame. Like I said, there’s no way I could make this shit up. Welcome to my life.