Story From Law Prom

Law prom was incredibly fun but a couple classmates lost their goddamned minds.

Take two seconds to think about the shittiest thing you’ve ever done to someone out on a date. Got it? If your answer comes anywhere close to telling the guys date, who you don’t know, that the guy is a man-whore who takes pleasure in fucking girls over . . . grab a fork and stab yourself in the neck. Do it. Don’t think about it just do it.

If you’re still reading this and you were one of the people to say such things to my date last night, you obviously missed the part about the fork.

And if you thought lines like, “Wow, Swanburg really has a thing for the neighbors” or “You’re way too smart to be dating Swanburg, he normally likes the dumb ones” were appropriate, you were wrong.

But that does not come close to taking any cake. No cake for you people. No cake. Not even close. The cake goes to the classmate that made my date his own.

While I was off buying drinks and talking to some people, I look over and this guy has his hand on my date's back. I think nothing of it. I go over, hand her a drink, place a few bets, kiss her on her head and talk to a few people behind me. I turn around, and again, the hand is on her back. I take a few steps away and further observe the situation with others. I laughed it off. When my date heard I was a slut I stopped laughing. I also stopped laughing when were walking to the car and he gave my date his jacket. He happened to be our D.D. for the night so he took us back to my place where I was having people over.

At this point, my corsage clad date didn’t want to talk to me so she went three doors down to her place and I followed her. We were both kind of tipsy and things went kind of poorly. I came back to my apartment, had some words with the guy who had been hitting on her, and listened to his side of the story. Apparently every time I’d walk away she’d come over to him and he was just trying to help me out.

I know this is long but don’t stop reading, it’s about to get good. This morning, I went over to her place and we worked things out.

So there we are, taking a nap upstairs when the doorbell rings. I run down to answer and you’ll never guess who it was. MY FUCKING CLASSMATE!!!! I shit you not; the one hitting on my date was now at her house . . . You can’t make this stuff up.

We didn’t really talk long enough to figure out why he was there, but why he was there was almost irrelevant at that point. He drove fifteen minutes in the pouring rain when a Facebook message would’ve sufficed, he didn’t call me prior to showing up at my date's house, and the night before, when he asked if I wanted him to talk to her, I specifically said “No I don’t want you near her.” And how he knew which apartment was her's remains to be seen.

But yea . . . that was law prom. S.B.A. did an awesome job of putting it on, and I can’t thank them enough. The cock blocking wasn’t their fault. When I get some pictures of the shindig I’ll put them up.