A fictional account of my Saturday night:

Last Saturday was a slow night and so I thought I would check in with the highly useful “Campus Calendar” for what exciting events might be going on. Much to my dismay there was listed “FUSA Butt Shorts.” I cringed as I imagined it to be a venerable fortress of over-stimulated estrogen struggling to get the last “T” so as to emblazon theirs with the catchy phrase, “Hott (sic) Stuff.” I had no choice though, either I went or I suffered through an epic four hour Indian movie with my roommate.

It was just as I thought, giggling girls slapping on catch phrases to tiny shorts. There were big girls, small girls, short girls, tall girls all thanking their lucky stars that finally FUSA had provided an activity in which they could upgrade their aging fleet of shorts. (Yes, it isn’t just the “Babysitting Board” that is making waves on this campus.)

I figured why not get in on the fun. I would make a pair, possibly to use humorously at any number of novelty parties. At first I thought I would get blue shorts and emblazon them with “Pistol Pete” in honor of the basketball great and Detroit Piston Pete Maravich. But, I figured the reference might be too obscure so I settled for “Dean for USA” in honor of the upstart democratic candidate for president from Vermont. Then all hell broke loose.

A gigantic woman, for whom the “Butt Shorts” were sadly inappropriate, pushed and shoved and punched her way past me for the last “A.” Unfortunately, the Sodexho cafeteria food I consumed earlier left my body badly undernourished and weak. I fell to the floor in a heap losing consciousness shortly thereafter.

I awoke to the bright lights of the examination table in the Health Center and two nurses standing over me examining me carefully. They informed me that I was either pregnant or that I needed to have my stomach pumped. I tried to explain that I was in the rare minority of males on campus but they would have nothing of it. I accepted the fact I was pregnant and promised to call my parents. They also gave me some salt to gargle with for my head.

So, I was back on the road to my townhouse and it was only 9:00 p.m. My roommate’s movie was scarcely a third over and so that option seemed rather unappealing to me. I thought I would return to the scene of the crime and see if any remnants were left of which I could use.

All that was there, however, was a janitorial worker in just a pair of “butt Shorts” and socks dancing ala Tom Cruise in Risky Business. I backed out slowly hoping he didn’t notice me.

Finally, in desperation I even went to “Game Night” where I, and some rather nerdy girls played Clue until eleven when they said they had to go to bed. I tried to pick up a screen name or a phone number from one of them, but her headgear made her words unintelligible.