Justin is a pseudonym used in this story so the subject is able to show his face on campus.

I was at one of my first Greek events after joining a sorority freshman year when I met the love of my life. Not really. Not at all, actually, but I’ll explain.

I had brought a date to the party. I’ll admit I forget both his name and how I even knew him, which may be due to the fact that four years worth of fuzzy nights and partially comprehensible memories separate the me that is writing this from the me that lived it. It also may be due to the fact that another guy stole the show that night.

That other guy was named Justin, and he was actually my big’s date for that night. I wish I could say I regret stealing her date, but given the nature of this story, I’m trying to be as honest as possible.

Justin and I started talking, and I’m sure the conversation was nothing more and nothing less than a mish-mosh of slurred introductions, followed by him telling me how special it was to be pledging a frat, followed by me telling him how life-changing it was to finally be in a sorority. Nonetheless, before I knew it we were back at his spick and span, beautifully furnished, Victorian-inspired frat house™.

We moved our make-out party back to my freshman dorm, at which point I lovingly told my roommate to get the hell out. One thing led to another, and I’m hoping it’s okay for me skip through some of the details.  Anyway, as Justin was about to *finish* he looked me dead in the eye and whispered, “I love you.”

Just to remind everyone, we had met that night. Our entire courtship had consisted of a drunken make-out in the back of a United Cab VIP (if you don’t know the days of United Cab VIP, you’re too young for this), a drunken make-out on some disheveled frat house couch that I’m assuming originates from last century (literally) and drunken sex between my freshman twin-sized bed and the Sharp Hall over-bed cabinets (you know, the ones that never get in the way of anything).

I wish I could say that Justin’s “I love you” came from his recognition of my intellect, coupled with a sincere appreciation of my fine-tuned sense of humor. But I think it’s safe to say the only thing he recognized that night was that I was wearing a dress so tight and so short that, albeit characteristic of the unfounded confidence of a freshman going to her first date party, could probably be more accurately described as a loincloth. And I think it’s also fair to assume the only thing he appreciated that night was that a living, breathing girl human invited him to do sex.

After Justin let it slip that he loved me, to say the mood of the 15 x 12 room was awkward would be an understatement. I encouraged him, as I had to my roommate mere minutes prior, to get the hell out.

While this situation was painfully awkward, it did teach me that frat boys are capable of love and that chivalry is alive and well on college campuses. More importantly, it gave me something to write about this week. So for that, Justin, I love you too.

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