Why You Should Never Trust Gifts From Old College Friends

Look, I'm not saying I'm fucking perfect, but I genuinely try to be a good human being, okay? I do my part, I recycle, I put the fucking shopping cart back, I help old ladies with their groceries... the whole nine yards.

So why does God, or the Universe, or whatever cosmic entity in charge of the multiverse seem absolutely determined to make me look like a complete and utter LOON?

Today I genuinely believe I hit what has to be peak embarrassment.

So I, being the socially awkward nitwit that I am despite being a fully grown- 29-year-old, decide to host a "reconnect" dinner with a group of old college friends. I thought, "Hey, it's been years, we've all had kids, gotten married or divorced, gained weight, lost hair... what the hell, right? Let's catch up."

Fast forward to the dinner. My house was cleaner than a hospital operating theater, the food was cooked to perfection (I even managed to not burn the garlic bread, which is a fucking miracle). And there sat me, the perfect host, nervously nursing my third glass of red while a group of people, who used to know me better than anyone, looked around awkwardly as though they were waiting for an axe murderer to pop out of my cupboards.

What's worse is that 'Steve,' my former best buddy and current somewhat-estranged acquaintance, walks in late with a flashy gift wrapped in sparkly paper and tied with a silken bow. Innocent enough, right? NAH!

Now, see, Steve's always been this prankster type, a real joker. We've pranked each other back and forth since college days. So I should've known I was setting myself up for disaster when I decided to muster enough courage to open this "gift" in front of everyone.

I opened the fucking thing, and out comes this monstrosity of a dildo which starts vibrating on the goddamn dinner table, in front of everyone. The collective gasp in the room was louder than a goddamn airliner taking off.

I swear, my face went through the entire fucking spectrum of reds. I have never wanted the ground to open up and swallow me faster than I did at that moment.

So there I was, laughing awkwardly, trying to play it off like I wasn't mortified out of my goddamn mind. And then, in my panic-stricken state, I went and turned the thing off... or tried to. Only, the bloody thing wouldn't stop! It was vibrating so hard, I was half-expecting it to blast through my roof any second.

Fast forward through what felt like fucking hours of mortification. The awkward silence finally lifted, everyone made sympathetic faces at me while holding back giggles and soon, it was like the dildo thing never happened.

All jokes aside, I fucking hate Steve and his idea of a "hilarious" gift. But the worst part? The absolute worst part? The fucking dildo broke my mom's favorite vintage porcelain centerpiece that she'd given me just a week ago.

I'm just hoping for a goddamn alien invasion at this point to distract from my dildo ridden embarrassment, so if any extraterrestrials are out there, please consider this a formal invitation to fuck up my day. It really can’t get worse at this point.