I wonder how she gets such beautiful skin?

Thursday, October 20, 2005

I actually woke up thinking of this story at 5 a.m. this morning. It occurred to me that my subconscious wants me to share this with all of you, so here it is, from the Dawn and Terrance early days of dating vaults…..

I met my now husband when I was entering my senior year of college. And Yes, it involved drinking and a bar.

Now, I lived with a roommate of whom I was quite fond. She is an Italian American Lass from Long Island, of the Sicilian variety. My husband (then boyfriend) is a black man of the African American variety from Detroit.

The dislike was instantaneous. She referred to him as “The Black Claw”, he referred to her as “Hairy”. It became safest to keep them apart – so when he would come to visit, she would go elsewhere.

At some point, Terrance decided to get into her bed every time he visited and roll around in it. Yes, very mature, I know. I loved him regardless.

One weekend, he jumped up from bed after one of our many, many long leisurely sexual encounters (Ahhhhh, those were the days – and in a single bed to boot!) and ran over to her washcloth that was hanging on the towel rack. Yes- you all see where this is going. He snatched the washcloth from the rack and proceeded to clean himself very thoroughly.
Then placed it back on her towel rack.

The weekend progressed and I forgot about the “cleaning of the genitals with my roommates face cloth incident”

Until……Sunday night. When she returns from the bathroom and says “Did my face cloth fall on the floor or something? It smells really funky”

Oh dear god. I am frozen. What do I do? I can not possibly tell her that she has just washed her face with my boyfriends semen. That would put her over the edge. So, I lie.
“Yeah, it must have fallen – here, I’ll go throw a load of laundry in – put it in here with my stuff”, and I run down the hall to wash out the evidence.

Terrance loves this story. When I first told him, he did a triumphant dance on her bed. Years later, when we attended her wedding, he wanted to yell out the truth during the ceremony, or at the very least write it in the card.

No, No and No. He just has to live with his secret happy memory that his arch nemesis washed her face with his love juice.

7 Baleful Regards:

Anonymous said...

Awesome story. E-Vil. If you have an e-mail address, I will share my evil roommate story (she was evil, I uh, "retaliated" in kind). I don't think I can tell the "world" just yet.
I don't know what years you were roommates, but it would have been funny if someone (anyone) would have said, in a F. Gump dialect, "sorry...didn't mean to ruin your Black Panther meeting."

Anonymous said...

duh - just realized I have it.

Anonymous said...

I meant "Panther party" (I hate when I misquote). I think it's the alliteration that makes it funny.

I am done clogging up your comments.

Beth Fish said...


Anonymous said...

awesome. my college boyfriend and I used to have sex on my freshman roommate's bed because she was such a bee-yotch. we sat on the pillows after, too.

Anonymous said...

Oh my god. You are so bold. And then to post a photo of you and Washcloth Man so we can all imagine far, far, far too much, in far too much detail.

Hilarious. I will never look at a washcloth the same way again.

In fact, I will never use a washcloth again.

Um, does she read your blog?

Dawn said...

No, my former room mate doesn't read the blog. I gave it to her, but she wrote back that she was glad I had found an outlet for all of my "life lessons".

I assumed that means she won't be reading the blog.

Yes. Behold the power of the Washcloth man. You can now see why I allowed him to impregnate me.

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