Running into a former fling – sort of

My sister visited last weekend, so I braved the cold to walk across campus to a party my friend was hosting.

About an hour into the party, my sister asked me if I knew the guy standing across the room where she had been talking to a friend. I looked over and saw it was a past boyfriend.

After I nodded, she giggled and said she’s fairly certain he had his sisters confused. After several lines of dialogue and a maybe hug or two, he was convinced he was talking to his ex.

Despite being two years and two inches shorter than me, my sister and I are often told that we look alike. I also noticed my ex-boyfriend wasn’t wearing his glasses and had clearly played more than one game of kings.

“Should I go tell him I’m not you?”

I said yes, then watched as she went over and interrupted his conversation to ask his name. After he confusedly gave it to her, she announced that she wasn’t me, but my sister.

He looked around awkwardly before spotting me, and then came to address the person he actually knew.

“You and your sister look a lot alike,” he said, attempting to save face.

I couldn’t control my laughter as he left.

EMILY BARTON

Showing some love

After passing a group of party-goers on my return from a late-night sandwich run, I was startled to hear one yell my major, “Yeah, Computer Science!” Confused, I turned around but couldn’t make out the culprit. Comforted that others on campus share my passion for coding – but a little creeped out, too – I continued home to enjoy my food.

Before a lecture the next week, I told my engineering friends the story and asked for their Saturday night alibis. After extensive questioning, I determined that none of them were the anonymous yellers. Our discussion must have been audible to the front of the classroom, though, because a guy I had never seen before stood, waved, and declared, “That was me!” before sitting back down.

“Yeah, CS” right back at you.

TOM HAYNES

Criminally fun

As I was approaching the back door of my dorm Sunday night, two other guys were walking toward me from a different direction. As I got closer, I overheard some of their conversation.

“You’re going to get so made fun of,” one of the guys said to his friend who opened the door for all of us.

I followed them inside as the second guy replied, “I’m just going to tell people it was a rough night.”

As they walked into the better-lit area, I realized what they were talking about. The guy who opened the door had a pair of silver handcuffs dangling from his left wrist.

I can only imagine how he got himself into such a predicament.

BETH WITTENSTEIN

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