While sipping my morning mimosas during my spinning class I reflected yesterday’s events. A well-known fratdaddy texted me at a respectable 1pm. My first thought, “This cannot be good.” Believe it or not, I was wrong. This fratdaddy was exuding all the social graces I would expect from an Officer and a Gentleman. He actually listened to my drunken babbling and attempted to engage in a sober converstation (obviously, I was not stone cold sober, but I digress). I immediately called upon my most trusted sorostitutes who came to my aid at the sorosticastle.
Slampiece – “Jump his bones, or I will.”
Tease – “It’s a game. Play along. But never let him win.”
Southern Belle – “Aww, put on your favorite Lilly dress. Give him a chance, especially if he has a southern drawl.”
Mom – “A hookup background check is needed, but more importantly you must maintain frat relations.”
As I much as I appreciate their advice, I used my alcohol saturated brain to come to my own conclusion: Fratdaddies come and go, but do not be offended, I still adore you almost as much as my new Range Rover HSE LUX and that’s saying a lot. However the only dependable sirs in my life are named Morgan, Jack and Jose.