Scottsdale, AZ —
It was around 3:00 PM when Brittany Stephenson finally woke up from her drunken stupor. She had gone out dancing with her friends the night before. “God damn, my head is pounding,” she said as she struggled to get out of bed. Still feeling intoxicated, she walked slowly to the kitchen to down a couple of ibuprofen with a glass of ice water.
Brittany stumbled back to her room to lay down and try to piece together the events of the previous night. “Shit!”, she exclaimed, “What the hell happened last night? I can’t remember a single thing! Could it be…..?” She quickly grabbed her cellphone to call her friend Sara.
After a few rings, her friend Sara finally answered the phone. “Hey! Good news: I think it finally happened!” Brittany said with nervous excitement.
“What finally happened?” Sara asked, confused.
“I think I was finally roofied last night. My head is in excruciating pain — throbbing like I’ve never felt before — and I can’t remember any details from last night! None, Sara!”
“Wait… what? How is this ‘good news’? Why would you be excited about getting roofied? Why would *anyone* be excited about this?” Sara questioned her friend.
Brittany, now feeling a little annoyed, went on to explain, “I’m tired of hearing all of these stories about women getting roofied, Sara. I’m feeling left out. Am I not good enough to be roofied? I know I’m getting older. Hell, I’ll be 26 soon. These women getting roofied are not any prettier than me, so what makes them so fucking special? Their stories make me feel undesirable and inadequate. Like, what’s wrong with me? You know?”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Brittany?” Sara asked irritatingly. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you. You had eight vodka tonics and six jäger bombs on an empty stomach. Sorry to burst your fucked-up little bubble, but you drank yourself into oblivion. You got us kicked out of the club because you passed out on the dance floor. I rode in the Lyft with you to make sure you got home safely. You insisted on sitting up front in the passenger’s seat and kept trying to lick the driver’s neck and asked if he would take you on a couple of ‘beard rides’. The dude was old enough to be your Grandpa. So, there you have it. Now fuck off with your roofied bullshit.”
“Really? Oh… well, dammit. I guess there’s always next weekend then,” Brittany said, embarrassed but hopeful.
By Catricia