“I am dying,” I thought to myself as I frantically scrambled to turn off my alarm blaring from my cell phone. I had been sleeping face-down on the dorm room floor of one of my sisters after a Friday night out, but set my alarm to make sure I still got up in time for work because, like, #Adulting. I sleepily stumbled to the bathroom, still half-hammered, and flipped on the light in an attempt to wake myself up. I clumsily fumbled through my sister’s makeup bag, seeing as mine was nowhere to be found. I needed to make myself look semi-presentable before facing the world, right? I finally looked in the mirror, and nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw.
What. The. Actual. Fuck. I’ve seen myself in bad shape before, like 8am-calc-on-a-Monday bad shape, but never like this. Still in my jungle-juice stained ugly Christmas sweater from the night before, I stared at my reflection and assessed the damage: the entire left side of my face was swollen, and underneath my eye was a bruise of the loveliest shade of purple. I immediately woke up one of my other sisters who slept in the bed nearest me that night, and we attempted to piece together our lives. Deciding I didn’t fall off of any elevated surfaces (though a realistic possibility), or get into any altercations, we could not figure out what the hell happened to me. I was the Mom of our pledge class, always making sure everyone else was safe and okay. Things like this didn’t happen to me. In all honesty, I rarely even drank. This was uncharted territory.
We eventually realized that originally, we shared a bed that evening. I ended up on the floor because my sister punched me in the face when I was asleep. Laughing it off, I went home, covered my black eye the best I could, and went to work. It wasn’t until I realized we had a philanthropy event involving the entire Greek community later that evening that I began to panic. People were going to think I was a mess. I had to wear letters. Fuck me, right? I decided that the best way to handle my predicament was to just own it. Everyone has at least one tragic night each semester, right? Well, this was mine, and I was damn proud of the fact that I made it to mid-December before having one. I walked into our philanthropy event and was met by a few condescending stares from our rival chapter, but mostly jokes from my sisters about how “tragic” I was. Finals were the following week, so everyone would quickly forget about this weekend anyway.
Our final chapter meeting of the semester was Sunday, where I was initiated into my new officer position. I took my finals the rest of the week, and ended up making the Dean’s list that semester. Everyone celebrated my accomplishments and eventually laughed off my black eye, although it still comes up in our pledge class group chat.
I guess I’m just a living testament that sometimes the girls who have their shit together can also be the biggest shitshows..