Toga! Toga! Toga!
God bless John Belushi. You know what the one thing was that I learned from Animal House? That I was not the kind of girl to hang with the Frat Boys. In my mind, it was the epic battle of the Greasers and the Socs. Frat=Soc. In college, we would avoid frat/sorority parties like the plague. As my little brother said, being in a fraternity is like having to pay someone to be your friend. Ugh.
And then, my S.O. comes into my life. And yes, he listens to punk. And yes, he can reminise about the good ol' days, where punks were still underground and skaters got beaten up with their boards. And he's almost as tattooed as me. And yes, he's a minx in the sack, and loves hangin' down south...ok, you get the point. And he's a frat boy. He's a PROUD frat boy. This scared the piss out of me at first, but now I'm getting used to it. The stories of drunken debauchery. The sex (yeah. try over 50. nice.) without attachment. The beer. The girls. Ugh.
But, alas, I am going this weekend to meet his brothers. Frat brothers. I go with an open mind and a damaged liver. Because if my S.O. could be a part of that world, hell it can't be all that bad. Cause he's all that good.
Did I mention the minx in the sack part?