An Open Letter To Every Frat House Basement
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An Open Letter To Every Frat House Basement

We seriously need to do something about the bathroom situation, thanks.

An Open Letter To Every Frat House Basement

Dear Frat House Basement,

For all of our years of high school, we were dying to party on elevated surfaces with a red cup in hand in an almost pitch black basement with sick strobe lights. Literally nothing had ever looked more fun in our entire lives.

However, what the drunken pictures on Facebook the next morning don’t show is the horrible monstrosity that you really are. 50 percent sweat and 50 percent spilled liquor, it’s 100 percent disgusting. Seriously, what am I even stepping in? Is it beer, pee, or vomit? It's probably a mixture of the three and it’s all from two nights ago.

When you first walk down the wobbly, dirty stairs, you think, “Maybe this party is going to be different. Maybe it will be really fun and I might actually meet some nice guys.” However, no, you’re wrong. It’s all the same, day after day and week after week.

During welcome week it was such a thrill to finally get into the coolest frat’s basement. It was like a right of passage to get inside and stand incredibly close to the girls who were trying to dance next to you, sweating almost as much as you were. It's a good thing that we all spend so much time doing our hair and makeup. It’s so dark that no one can even see my outfit, but who cares? Some hot guy just grabbed my butt, so it’s all good, right?

No matter how many pictures we take in front of the graffiti and flags on your walls, these parties are not as fun as they look on social media. Our shoes get ruined, our hair is a mess, and we have no idea who we just made out with and most likely never will. So, why do we keep on going?

Is it because the boys just texted us, inviting us downstairs, or do we actually believe that this week it will be better, cleaner, and cooler? Is this really the only way to have fun until we turn 21 and can get into bars? I really don’t know if my self esteem and Steve Madden booties can handle this for another two years.

98 percent of my worst college nights have happened while partying in a frat’s basement. I just saw this one guy make out with three girls in the same friend group. Why is this ever OK? You draw us in and make us think that we’re having a good time, but in the Uber home our hair is disgusting, we can’t hear ourselves think, and our shoes have at least seven different disgusting liquids and smells forever clinging to their souls soles.

So, with that, my dear Frat House Basement, I hope that you know that you are smelly, sticky, and sweaty, but we will never stop being your number one fans. We love you endlessly and cannot wait to end the night with you. We love to hate you and we hate to love you, but we’re always down to party with you late at night.


All of your freshman girlfriends

P.S. We seriously need to do something about the bathroom situation, thanks.

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