Wednesday, December 5, 2012 // The Statement
A not-so-sexy threesome
Wednesay, Dcembe 5, 212. Th Statment 3 1
the leaders and the worst
by zach bergson and kaitlin williams
a week of daily stories
* A New Zealand man went blind after
mixing vodka with his diabetes medi-
cation, and a shot ofwhiskey given
to him by doctors for its high ethanol
content restored his vision. We want
to know where this hospital is.
President Barack Obama held a town ru
hall-style Q&A on Twitter, supposedly to
talk about the fiscal cliff, but we know he
was only trying to get the Pope to retweet
by Anna Sadovskaya
Pope Benedict XVI is now on twitter
*and aireadyhas more than 455,000
followers. We're still waiting for him
to tweet, but we're hoping his first 140
characters absolve the entire twitter-
sphere of its sins. Especially Lindsay
* Following the news that Kate Middle-
ton is pregnant with the next Prince
or Princess of Wales, baby name
speculation is at a royal high. Bt twe
Americans are above gossiping about
Emergency officials reported that a small fire at the Art & Architecture
Building on North Campus Wednesday night caused a building-wide
evacuation and damaged a sculpting studio.
Three, according to triangles, tricycles
and charm, is the best number. Three
says "I have two others helping me
out." Three is sturdy; three is the spice of life;
three is a party.
Unfortunately, I've never mastered the art
of three. I learned to ride a bicycle when I
was 7: no third wheel required.
And yet, during my freshman year at
the University, I found myself being rudely
pushed into the designated third spot of my
friends' blossoming relationship. It started
out very innocently:
"Josh and I are going to Meijer, want to
come?" Sara would ask. I'd agree: My stock of
granola was always at a dangerous low when-
ever she asked, and, after all, there is nothing
inherently sexy about grocery shopping.
But things quickly progressed:
"Want to grab some lunch?" Josh offered
one day. I agreed, thinking it was going to be
"a quick pick-up, so it was a shock to find Sara
saving us a seat as we pulled up.
"WE'RE THE THREE BEST FRIENDS-"
Things only went downhill from there. It
wasn't that my friends had turned into the
sickeningly sweet couple no one likes, but
-when they started dating, they had unoffi-
cially agreed to be a team of two. Suddenly,
I wasn't a part of every joke, or every story,
which was fine! But to make up for time lost,
this third wheel position was created for
me, and I was forever the person they called
when they needed to get back in touch with
their mutually respective lives.
Enter Friday, September 17, 2010.
"So, Josh's housemate is throwing a party
this Friday. We're goingto dress up like cray-
ons and go!"
Protesting a party was like committing a
crime, so rather than lamely sit at home and
watch the Food Network, I put on a green
dress and accepted that this was as good as
it would get.
"This willbe fun!" was Sara's mantra. And
it was fun, until I remembered the onlythree
people I knew there were my puppy-love
friends and a girl from my biology class that
was dressed as a Teletubby.
"Listen, listen, do you think Josh really
loves me?" Sara asked throughout the night.
And there we were, the place a designated
third wheel will inevitably end up. I couldn't
even turn a blind eye and argue I hadn't
seen them together, that I wasn't a constant
in their liaison. They tricked me into being
involved, and I wasn't even looking for a rela-
Threewas not aparty. Threywas aFriday-
night girl in a green crayon outfit, convincing
a friend her boyfriend was her one, true love.
I had to get out. Out of the conversation,
out of the third wheel, out of that party. I
searched for my room key, that beautiful,
yellow plastic beacon of hope, but came up
dmpty. And then I remembered I had left it
on my desk, my siren call receiving no answer.
Things were becoming quite bleak. It took
Sara another two hours before she decided
it was time to leave. Thankfully, Josh stayed
behind. For a while, anyway.
we meandered, held back by Sara's con-
stant stop-and-start manner of walking as
she recounted every moment of a night I had
just shared with her. As soon as we made it to
her dorm, I made a beeline for the bathroom
and then to the makeshift bed Sara set up for
me on the floor of her room in South Quad.
And then ...
I'd like to think it was a dream. Some-
times I concentrate really hard, hoping to
discover that my sleepy-mind had misun-
derstood what was happening-exagger-
ated the situation. But I'm almost 98.9%
sure that I was not dreaming when Josh
clumsily knocked on Sara's door and my
two friends began the "so, should we...ya
"Anna-is right there, Josh! We can't just-"
"She's asleep,,Sara! Come pn,,she ,wop't
Sometimes things happen as a sign from
the universe. As if your entire existence can
be validated by the moment you turn on your
car and Adele's "Someone Like You" blares
through your speakers. Moments like those
are rare, beautiful unicorns.
This was not such a moment. As I furious-
ly tried to fall back into some semblance of a
peaceful sleep, Josh persevered.
"No. Josh, stop, oh gosh, this is probably a
And then it happened..
I lay there, on the floor of Sara's dorm
room, while the two wanton lovers consum-
mated their relationship. Twice.
Nothing in my life had prepared me for that
moment. Nothing prepares you for a number
of situations, though, outside of the experience
itself, and most of the time, they make excel-
lent stories that you never want to tell anyone.
That morning I tiptoed out of her room,
doing the walk of shame back to Markley for
entirely different reasons than most people
thought of when they saw my shoes in hand
and disheartened stare. I never talked about
it with Sara and Josh. They broke up a couple
months later, and it all seemed entirely too
unbearable to bring up.
4nila, Sadpvskayq is an LSA junior and an
assistant arts editorfor The Michigan Daily.
MPowered, a student-run non-profit organization, held a 1000 Pitches
Summit in preparation for Sunday's second annual 1000 Pitches awards
ceremony. This year's competition received 4,537 pitches.
COVER PHOTO BY TERESA MATHEW