The guys took my lead, and it turned into a game of handball with all of us throwing balls in every direction we saw a pocket. Unfortunately, I don't have the best hand-eye coordination, and in an attempt to corner pocket one of the balls, I sent it reeling over the pool table straight into the wall behind it, where it stayed. Shortly after, the bartender asked us to leave.

We took our cue and went back to my parents', got wrecked, then took our men to our respective love lairs. As I was rolling around in the bed I was probably conceived in, I ripped off my guy's T-shirt to discover a completely hairless chest. Since there were no burn scars, I had to assume that this young man had done this to himself voluntarily. There was no hair anywhere on his body. Not in his pants nor on his legs.

"Where's your hair?" I asked him.

"I shave," he told me.

"On purpose?"

I was instantly nauseous and may have thrown up a little, which ended up working to my advantage in orchestrating my escape.

"Are you okay?" he said.

I blushed and said that this had been my very first night of drinking. "I guess alcohol is not really my thing," I lied.

He said it was okay and maybe I'd feel better in the morning.

"Maybe," I said, "but you won't be around to find out."

Unfortunately, I had to break up Ivory's party in order for her to drive my guy home. She wasn't thrilled, but it turns out her guy was missing a few hairs too. The ones on his head. As they were rolling around on her bed, his toupee came flying off and landed on the curling iron that was left on for what could very well have been the entire summer. Ivory liked older men, but not old enough to have no hair. Apparently, this guy really got the short end of the stick in the looks department. How he did in the other stick departments, we would never know.