Eight Crazy Nights (6)

Night Five: MamaG is going to murder me

Backstory: The Bev is a freshman in college.

I mean, I want you all to take a second to imagine Beverly here as a college freshman. While you’re doing that, I’d like you to know that the bars in my college town allowed 18-year-olds in the door. You “couldn’t drink” inside (ask me about that sometime) but you could go to the hot bars the second you stepped onto campus, and what a time it was to be alive. Dear God, I could probably write an entire book about my freshman year of college, but we’ll focus on one specific night for now.

Now, I don’t actually remember the night, but not in the way that you think! The actual night was a pretty typical one for my freshman year… meaning I kept the schedule of an infant throughout the day (classing and napping) and probably woke up around 8 pm to get in the shower and get ready. Then I most likely took shots of vodka before I headed out with a shampoo bottle flask in my purse (another good story) to whichever bar was having the best specials that night.

The party didn’t stop until I walked into my dorm room at 7:30 am (no idea where I was after the bars closed). And the reason this story is relevant? Smoke and MamaG were arriving at my dorm room at 9 am (which, in MamaG’s terms is more like 8:40) to take Maude and me around campus to take pictures for our Christmas card. You see, Maude was a senior when I was a freshman at the same university, and MamaG (understandably) wanted to capture the special time for posterity.

And, oh, capture memories, we did. Let’s just say, we’ve had better Christmas card photos.

-Bev

P.S.- My blog site did some kind of update and everything looks different and I can’t figure out how to underline and this is going to be a shitshow for the next three months until I get the hang of the new format. Edith: tech support needs just grew exponentially. Melva: also on standby (after your strep passes). So, anyway, I know the first line of this should be underlined but I just can’t right now. Literally.