The Dude’s Demise

My dad agreed that since I was coming home a lot this first semester of college, it was easiest for me to have a car at school. That was so lucky. As I drove back and forth, I really did think things with The Dude were going to work out.

What I was most excited about was the fact that I had an actual boyfriend who had an actual Homecoming dance coming up. And he played on the football team! A tight end. I honestly didn’t know what that meant, but I did know that I loved wearing his old football jersey.

I would, for THE FIRST TIME EVER, be going to a dance with a guy I was actually dating!

Or so I thought.

One day when The Dude and I were talking on the phone, the topic of the dance came up. I could hardly contain my excitement.

“Babe, about the dance. I think I’m going to ask She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

Um, she sleeps with all of her dates.

 “Yeah, I know.”

I was crushed. When I left for school, we agreed we would date around and I certainly was, but She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? Ouch. She was someone I considered a friend. We were on the same teams. She was his age and they had a bunch of mutual friends going to the dance together.

Okay, you can go. But promise me you won’t sleep with her.

 “Okay babe.”

The dance came and went. My best friend’s younger sister was on a team with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. She was hosting a team sleepover one weekend soon after the dance.

The Dude and I were still officially a couple and rumors had started to swirl that She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and The Dude did indeed do the deed the night of the dance.

So, my friend and I did the logical thing. We drove home for the weekend. Another good friend did the same. We met at the sleepover house, in my friend’s bedroom, and put our plan in motion.

We put a blank cassette tape into my pal’s tape recorder and my two friends slid right under her bed with the loaded listening device.

I sought out She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and brought her up to the room for a chat. My friends hit the record button just before we entered the interrogation room. I could sense her nerves but continued on. I repeatedly asked her if she had sex with The Dude at his Homecoming and it didn’t take long for her to confess, crying the entire time.

I truly wasn’t upset with her at all. I actually really liked her. But she did sleep with my boyfriend and that was unfortunate. After her tears dried and we wrapped things up, we heard a loud click. I knew that the recording had run out of tape and automatically clicked off.

“What was that?” she asked glancing around the room.

I pretended to not hear anything and ushered her out. My friends rolled out from under the bed with the evidence freshly recorded.

The cassette.

[In hindsight, I wish I had never pulled She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named into the mess of my relationship with The Dude. At the time, my 18-year-old brain truly thought that was the right course of action. I grew up idolizing Charlie’s Angels and Jonathan and Jennifer Hart. I felt like a justified super sleuth fueled by the excitement of some serious drama.]

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