Hey, thanks again for pulling me out of that big bunch of hedges on Ashford Street last Saturday night. I owe you one, big time. If I had your email or knew who you were, I would send you a hilarious and heartfelt e-thank-you card.
Boy, what a crazy Saturday, right? I don’t know how much I consumed that night, but all the lines on my ankle say I had 23 of something.
I’m not sure how I got stuck in all the shrubbery, but I do know I had been there for quite a long time before you pulled me out. At least I think it was a long time.
I know it was at least 20 minutes, because I heard someone across the street yell, “Hasn’t that guy been in those bushes for like 20 minutes now?” I heard laughter and felt someone take my wallet — or maybe I threw my wallet at the voice. Ha, who knows? Either way, I lost my wallet.
I spent most of my time in those hedges trying to figure out where I was. Maybe a jungle or forest, I thought, and I knew college existed someplace — that was it. Who knows, if you hadn’t found me, I might still be lost in that narrow, dense jungle. You’re a saint.
Since we’re talking about Saturday night anyway, do you happen to remember if I had any clothing on when you rescued me? When I awoke standing upright in my closet on Sunday, I had a belt on but no pants, and two tube socks covered my hands like mittens. I still don’t know where my shirt is, and I don’t remember owning a pair of briefs, which I had on when I woke up. Are they yours? They seem like female briefs, and I slightly recall you being female — I remember being near clothed boobs. Yeah, I’m positive they were boobs. Two of them. Two well dressed boobs.
Also, did I paint my entire body fuchsia before or after the hedges? I don’t know how much I told you Saturday night, but if you can help me solve this little mystery, I would really appreciate it. You should Facebook me, too. Even though I don’t remember all the details of your face or gender, I know you pulled me out of a giant bush of hedges and that alone deserves Facebook friendship and a good, solid poke.
If you are a woman, there’s also a good chance I tried to make out with you. I’m sorry if I came on too strong, but I was probably really excited to be out of those hedges.
However, if we did make out after you rescued me, I’m really sorry if I got hedge leaves in your mouth. A couple days ago, I suddenly remembered licking branches in a poorly conceived escape attempt. I don’t know why, but I somehow convinced myself the only way to get out of the hedges was by tongue. I might have eaten a couple branches, too, but I think that had more to do with hunger than escape.
Here’s what I do remember: It was Saturday, and I showed up at my buddy Doug’s place at around 6 p.m. I ate dinner (spaghetti) and left. I had plans to go to a party in West, but it wasn’t a fuchsia party or a hedge party for that matter.
Someone told me to bring a vegetable plate, so I went to Shaw’s and bought a ready-made veggie platter for $6.99. Outside the store, I ran into friends Lauren, Hilary and Paulo. We agreed to rejoin later and play Scrabble.
According to Hilary, I showed up later that night and absolutely destroyed in Scrabble. To celebrate my victory, I apparently lit all the letters on fire, put the fire out with a gallon of milk and ran away with the Scrabble board. Did I have the Scrabble board when you found me in the hedges?
I don’t remember going to the party, but I do remember opening the vegetable plate and eating all the cauliflower, most likely on a dare. Using the ranch dressing as a hair gel must have been a dare as well, because I don’t think I could confuse the two. I have faint images of full bottles and glasses followed by fainter images of empty ones, and I remember calling Domino’s to order cheesy bread and aromatherapy candles.
In the end, I doubt I will ever put the whole picture together. Oh, well. And although I may not know your name, school or age, and your gender is still up in the air, I remember you saved me from the evil clutches of those giant hedges. That’s really all that matters. So, thank you again, Mystery Rescuer, and if those clothed boobs indeed belonged to you, my compliments, me lady.
Zack Poitras, a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at [email protected].