Dear Emily,
We need to talk.
You don’t need to explain to me the allure of a stranger. A stranger is mysterious. A stranger is intriguing. A stranger won’t run into you on the way to class on Monday morning, leaving you to awkwardly explain what happened to you when you said you had to go tinkle and instead snuck out of the bathroom window. All very good things.
So it comes as no surprise that you prefer to bring home men you meet at clubs and bars as opposed to the usual campus crowd.
There’s just one issue: When I run into a strange man walking out of your room at 2 am who says, “Emily was a little sleepy, so I just tucked her into bed and decided to go home early,” I usually assume that means, ” I just drugged your friend and dressed her up like an infant as part of my sick twisted sex fantasies. Now you have two minutes to find the key I hid in her stomach or else she’ll die a gruesome death.”
I hope you can understand why I’d find this troubling.
Sure, the familiar can get a little boring, but we don’t go to a university with a highly trained security force that could successfully defend us against a horror movie killer. If some wacked-out dude starts killing students based on urban legends, there’s no tough-as-nails cop played by Loretta Devine who will come to the rescue. We just got that fat dude who looks kind of like Garfield post-lasagna.
Give your fellow classmates a chance. In a campus of thousands, I’m sure you can find a guy who still has a little bit of mystery to him. Sure, your love life might end up like one of those cheesy college films where two best friends realize they’re meant for each other, only to be torn apart by their friends and then reunited again five years down the road. But at least your love life will be a lot less like Saw.
And unless you’re heavily into bondage, I’m sure you’d prefer it that way.
Your GBF,
Scott