The Grossest Story Ever

I have a friend who, for privacy purposes, we'll call Clarissa. Clarissa is one of the most kind people I know, she's generous, she's intimidatingly beautiful, she's a hard worker, she's loyal, she gives sound advice. And I'm telling you all of those great things about her because she may unfriend me after I share this story.

I should also note that Clarissa is a bit [whoa, understatement!] of a germaphobe. She showers about 100 times more than I do (which is also a testament to how dirty I am, which the rest of this story will reiterate), and she likes to be clean. Really, really clean.

Rewind to sophomore year of college, back to the days when I spent money recklessly, did shots of warm cheap vodka, and was obsessed with the color purple (the actual color, not the Academy Award winning film). Clarissa was one of my suitemates that year. Our suite consisted of one common room with three dorm rooms coming off of it. Our common room was always very, very messy.

And sophomore year of college I had a job at the beloved Buffalo Wild Wings, where I made shittons of cash but had to work until the wee hours of the morning. Usually by the time I got home from work (between 2-3 a.m.) my suitemates had already gone to sleep.

One night, I came home from a busy, busy night of work. I was so exhausted. I had been in class all day and then worked a 10-hour shift of wing night (!) and had been dealing with idiot frat boys and other college drunks. My feet hurt. I smelled like smoke and beer.

So I finally got back to our suite and everyone had gone to bed. Rather than to disturb them, I decided to decompress in the common room. The messy, messy common room. There was crap everywhere, including about a zillion empty bottles of water and Nantucket Nectars, and handles of Vladimir vodka (just mentioning the name Vladimir makes me gag). I sat on the futon and watched some TV and started to mess with my feet.

I really shouldn't be telling you this because you're going to think less of me.

While messing with my feet, I realized that the toenail on my big toe was way too long. Instead of doing the hygienic thing--getting some clippers and properly disposing of the clippings--I made a bad, bad decision. Remember, I was really tired.

I ripped off the toenail (hey, at least I didn't bite it off!) myself. But then I needed to get rid of it. The trash--and by trash I mean lawn-sized Hefty bag that could have held an automobile--was all the way across the room. And I was so tired.

So instead of doing the appropriate thing, getting off of my ass and putting the toenail in the garbage, I located a bottle of Dasani that was within arms reach and only had about a sip left in it, I took off the cap, I put my toenail in the bottle, and I put the cap back on. I thought nothing of this disgusting action. A short while later I headed to bed.

Of course, my slumber was interrupted the next morning when I heard a loud screech and "MANDY!" coming from the bathroom. It was Clarissa.

Clarissa was on birth control, and was meticulous about taking her pill. That morning, she couldn't find anything with which to wash down the pill, so she picked up one of the water bottles in the common room that had a little bit left in it--the same one I had dropped my toenail into only hours before.

And she drank my toenail. Let me say that again. She.drank.my.toenail.

And how did she know that it was mine? Because when she coughed/puked it up, it had purple nail polish on it.

I hope that Clarissa doesn't unfriend me for sharing this story, but I'm pretty sure that if she didn't unfriend me that day, she's a friend for life. I told you, she's loyal. And very, very pretty.