My second year in college was a sad and lonely time for me. I was living in a studio apartment, off campus, with only my cat to keep me company. Despite the fact that I had an on again/off again boyfriend, the majority of my social activities revolved around entertaining the local constabulary during their frequent visits to my building, courtesy of my very loud and physically abusive (to each other) upstairs neighbors.
Several months earlier, my best friend, at the time, had abandoned her boyfriend to sail across the pond with an English Jaguar salesman that she had met at the local bar; leaving me to deal with the aftermath of a broken-hearted jock, who, just wanted to know "WHYYYY?!" (at 2:00 a.m. every Saturday), a slew of used furniture, and, instructions not to let her sister, an aerobics instructor with thighs and biceps larger than those of the jock, claim any of her possessions while she was gone.
It was pretty clear that I was missing out on the things that make college memorable.
Cut to a cold and wintry night, shortly after Christmas break, when; there was a knock at my door.
I hesitated to open it, fully expecting to find a cop wielding a noise complaint, a drunken, weepy football player, or, an irate aerobics instructor, hopped up on steroids and demanding the return of her family's antique coffee table.
I found, instead; four girls wielding a gallon of ice cream, a can of whipped cream, and, a bottle of Kahlua.
"Hi. Do you have a blender?"
That was twenty-four years ago.
We are having Kahlua shakes again this weekend.
I am so glad I opened that door.