While many of my classmates were off to exciting locales and carefree escapades for break, I returned home to enjoy the nothingness that is southwest Wisconsin. There would be no Mexican misadventures, no Floridian frolicking and absolutely nothing would happen in Vegas, so it could all just stay there.
But, as I learned, I don't need exciting places to get myself into trouble. I can do that well enough at home, with the occasional trip to Iowa.
I have unwillingly developed the reputation of a hussy. While I admit to being flirty, I refuse to be the home-wrecker so many women claim me to be.
Many times, I don't even realize I am wrecking their home. For example, let's start with the fake dates.
A fake date is where the guy thinks we are on a date, but I am fully aware that it is not nor will it ever be a date. Believe it or not I have fallen into this trap far too many times, lured in by the false promise of a group of friends just hanging out.""
Conveniently, the 43 other people invited couldn't make it: One had suddenly developed the bird flu, another found her long-lost twin and they were busy filming a Doublemint Gum commercial. Still another had decided to become a monk and his vow of silence prevented him from calling to cancel. Funny how those things work out.
Regardless of the excuses, I am left sitting awkwardly with a guy who thinks he is about to whisk me off my feet with our surprise date.
However, I am not a very whiskable girl. Especially since I have a very real boyfriend. He is a sweetheart, but he gets a little exaggerated when I fall into these awkward situations.
As I become more and more uncomfortable with this fake date, my boyfriend becomes an increasingly jealous and large man. And he tends to transfer here to Madison and become a Badger linebacker. You've just never heard of him because Bielema is afraid to play him. You see, most deaths in football are unintentional, but he just loses control on the field. While a tad on the unbelievable side, mention of him usually ends the fake date.
But I can't blame all my hussy reputation on the guys. Sometimes, what I think is funny, other girls don't. Like when I was dancing at work with Matt.
We work at a theater, and a ridiculous movie tunes soundtrack plays all day. If we didn't dance and have some fun with it, we would go crazy. He had just dipped me when his girlfriend walked in. I couldn't really tell because I was upside down, but she didn't look very happy with me. Or with him.
Or there was the time Brad's girlfriend thought she caught me checking out his butt. Actually, I was just trying to help her out. There was a rumor he had started smoking, and I was afraid the rectangle in his back pocket was a pack of cigarettes. It turned out to be a deck of cards, but my success in falsifying the rumor didn't calm her rage. To her credit, he does have a fabulous bottom, so I can see why she would be so protective of it.
But the most embarrassing moment of my illustrious career as a hussy was from a seemingly innocent photograph. I can tell what you're thinking - no scandalous photograph is ever that innocent. But this picture was of my friend Kevin and me at the beach. We were hugging, he in his swim trunks and me in my swimsuit with a towel wrapped around my waist. See, innocent!
However, when I met his mom at his 21st birthday party, she did not agree. She might have been slightly buzzed when she strolled up to our table at the Nitty and proclaimed, ""That's the hussy in your photograph!"" My jaw dropped, along with the jaws of everyone at the table. Kevin just giggled drunkenly.
Should I change my ways to avoid name-calling from the other girls? I went to my mother for advice. She sat pondering for a moment, then replied, completely straight faced, ""Naw, it's more fun to be a hussy.""
If you would like to take Megan on a fake date so she can get a free dinner, e-mail her at mcorbett2@wisc.edu.
