One of the many bizarre social rituals performed at Brigham Young University by single college students is the "faux Family Home Evening." For those unaware, in the ideal Mormon world, Monday nights are "family nights" where all 12 children gather around Mother and Father and play games and read scriptures and swap Xanax stories and drink the cool-aid. At college, BYU tries to continue that experience with "families" made up of fellow students in your apartment complex who are expected to meet once a week with a "mother" and "father" chosen from the group by the religious leaders.
By the end of a semester these groups of about 20+ students dwindle to a few die-hards while the others focus on studying, pair off, get married, or just realize that they have something better to do with their Monday nights. But those first few weeks are filled with optimism about making new friends, finding your soul-mate, or just being a good little Mormon.
So imagine an apartment crammed with 20 Mormons who have never met, trying to pretend that they are now siblings (eerily incestous ones at that). Usually, during this first meeting, there's some sort of go-around-the-room-indroducing-yourselves that takes most of the allotted time. During one such meeting I was delighted to discover that the one hot chick in the ward was in my group.
Pause here to consider my definition of "hot" as a 22 year old Mormon: she had tits and wasn't a fatty.
Though to be fair to myself from back then, I usually ruled out the prissy/bitchy women right away because they were too shallow. I also ruled out the good little Mormon girls because they were too stupid. With 99% of the women out of my list, I was lucky to find one in a given semester that piqued my interest at all. She was usually the smart rebellious one who thought I was too straight-laced to be any fun and left BYU the next semester because it was wwwaaaayyyyy too stifling.
Well, when the one hot-rebellious-smart chick introduced herself, she was trying to think of a word to use to describe herself. Thinking out loud she said "it starts with an 'e' but I can't quite think of it." I saw my chance! I was smart, I knew words, I could come to her rescue. In my brilliant mind I came up with "eccentric."
"no, not that, but similar"
My dick shrunk three sizes that day. We moved on until the very end, when she remembered the word: eclectic.
To this day I remember that word because it could have got me laid. Time to let go yet?
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