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Ten years ago, during my freshman year at college, one of my girlfriends gabbed about this older, computer-geeky guy (Tom) who was trying to date her. She didn’t know if she was interested in him. One night at a party, my friend introduced the guy to me. She promptly left with him to take shots in her dorm room. Later on that night I ran into the two of them, and my friend was completely drunk. The guy and I spent the following hours holding her hair back as she threw-up everywhere and then carrying her back to campus and putting her to bed. Later on, I took Tom to my dorm, where we talked all night and made out while watching “A Time to Kill” in the communal sitting room. Afterwards, he said that he was more interested in dating me because I had learned more about him in one night of talking than had my friend in all the time that they spent together. The next morning Tom went to tell my friend, but she had suddenly decided that she did want to date him. She walked over to him in order to plant a big kiss on his lips, but he pushed her back and said, “I think I’m going to date Theresa instead.”