Jewish girl who passed out in my bed - m4w
Me: Not Jewish (Gentile), dashing, gazelle on the dance floor and drunk
In case you were as blacked out as I think you were, I feel as though I should reintroduce myself. You were dancing around and enjoying the festive cake and brownies at the JCC inaugural bar mitzvah…I mean inaugural ball, before cabbing to Chinatown and passing out in my bed. Nothing makes me swoon for interfaith relationships like a girl who passes out in my lap in the back of a cab.
You might be asking yourself “why did that sweet boy not call me?” or “did I really wake up in a random guy’s bed in Chinatown?” and other important questions to gauge whether or not last night was a dream, drunken haze or bittersweet reality. Allow me to answer those questions.
While I have not called you, I did text you to make sure you succeeded in getting a cab at 7am and making it to work on time. However, in the heat of the moment last night, you either you gave me the wrong number, or we were both so F’ed up that the number went into my phone incorrectly. My equally blacked out friend (who you met in the bathroom and introduced us on the dance floor) pawned you off on me – the responsible, mitzvah-seeking guy who had been hitting on you most of the night – when it became clear that you could not effectively locate any of your belongings or coherently tell us where you lived.
Upon stumbling into my apt, you decided the party must go on, albeit you couldn’t stand or keep your eyes open. Again, quality traits I look for when asking myself, “could I see myself converting for this woman?” Once you changed into my clothes and passed out immediately in my bed, I wasn’t sure whether to sleep on the floor or in my bed. However, the cute way you drunkenly mumbled to yourself “I should stop drinking on Tuesdays” as you woke up, confirmed my decision to sleep in bed and make sure you didn’t suffocate in the sea of pillows before you.
I must say, the morning wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be. I figured you’d freak out, not knowing where you were or whose bed you were in. You took relative comfort in how I left a big glass of water and Excedrin (not rufies) on the table. After offering you more clothing to keep you warm outside and walking you out to get a cab, I went back to bed saying to myself, “I think that classy woman might be the one.”
If you’re reading this, my offer to take you out to dinner still stands. I'm a mensch at heart and will bring the Manischewitz.
- Location: Chinatown-Gallery Place
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