Ahh, parents weekend. A wonderful time of family and fun, where one can look forward to going out to eat, going out to stock up on groceries, and spending all that money you saved on booze. Who knows what will happen when you have a weekend involving anything and everything from daddy/daughter Beirut to moms that look too much like their hot daughters.
A girl once told me a story about her parents weekend. Her mother and father were dropping her off at her dorm room after dinner and her father, very inebriated, needed to use the men’s room. She directed him across the hall and went back to talking to her friends with her mother. All of the sudden, they heard the father shouting from the men’s room on the other side of the hall.
They ran in to see what was going on, only to behold the father yelling at a random Fairfield guy who in his drunken wisdom had decided to “drop anchor” in one of the bathroom sinks. In the young mans defense, the bathroom stalls had all been thoroughly puked in. I’m not sure off-hand what the custodians at this school make, but I know it’s not enough.
Odds are though, you’re prolly gonna go out to dinner with your roommates’ or housemates’ parents. Make a good initial impression. Last year I was fortunate enough to meet Mrs. Desousa, my housemate’s mother, while I was a little out of my mind. At the beach, his parents were the first to arrive. I was barefoot, denim shorts, sleeveless white t-shirt with stains on it and of course an American flag bandanna with a beer and a cigarette. I did the only thing I could, and offered her a Nattie light.
One last thing to pay attention to. Just because it’s parents weekend, doesn’t mean it’s only parents that show up. Often siblings, both of age, and below (mama always told me, 16 will get you 20) make looking for a good time. Show them what you’re made of, Fairfield.
Side note: Guys Dupe/Silly Goose kicked it on Saturday.
Fourtunes. Freshmen: Your parents will buy you some new Abercrombie gear Sophmore: Your parents aren’t coming, they don’t love you. Juniors: you parents will buy a beer at dinner. Seniors: Your parents are buyin’ you shots at the bar (Mr. Mongo)
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