Dear Frat Bathrooms,
You tear my tender heart in two. You consume my thoughts and overwhelm my senses. As for the mystifying sticky liquids pooled on the floor—the artifacts of intoxicated men who never learned basic human etiquette—and a lack of ye’ old sweet toilet paper: I’m not mad, just disappointed. It’s not your fault, though. I guess you could say I didn’t like you, I just liked the idea of you. All I hope is that you can grow and change. Might I suggest some hand soap, or even just a lock on your door? Everyone needs a little bit of flushing out with the old to make space for the new, and so do you—no, really. So, for now, we part ways, but we all know you’ll remain in my thoughts. Don’t we all go back to our ex-loo-vers? Acquire some toilet paper… then we’ll talk.
