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This Sleepover Is All Good And Fun While Simultaneously Being Life-Destroying

We started watching the bootleg, and straight off the bat I had little to no idea what was going on.

Jeremy's house felt so weird when it was midnight. The windows' dim light creeped in, the silhouette of the naked trees outside burning into the carpet. The only black light was radiating from the television. It was so disorienting, that my mind could only focus at one thing at a time. That one thing being the musical bootleg.

The musical starts off with four jews saying "bitch" approximately seventy one times consecutively, so I can definitely give myself a little bit of leeway for not knowing exactly what's going on.

Jeremy and Christine are really into it though, so I can't bring myself to ask any questions.

After around the second song, where all the characters were singing about hepatitis and stuff, I started catching on, and I considered getting some clarification from Jeremy and Christine, but they were huddled up together in some blankets, looking incredibly focused. The world could catch on fire and they would be none the wiser.

I decided that instead of inching closer to them, hoping that they'd read my confused expression and then explain everything to me in better detail, I should just watch the bootleg instead and wait until I start piecing things together. And so I did.

It was an emotional rollercoaster.

I started catching on to the plot around halfway through, and actually understanding what was going on made it a lot more enjoyable, and even though according to the both of them, they'd watched this musical hundreds of times, they still cried their hearts out.

Admittedly, so did I. I'm not one to cry over movies and stuff, especially not in front of other people, but there was this sense of comfort I felt around these two dorks.

Damn, I just cried over a musical, didn't I? So far today I've knitted friendship bracelets, freaked out when Jeremy called me a cute nickname, and cried over a musical bootleg.

I'm the kinda person 13-year-old me would trip and then proceed to kick the shit out of in the halls.

After the last song, "Falsettoland (Reprise)" Christine looked like she figured out her family just died and Jeremy looks like his spouse just went off to war.

I looked like I just dropped my ice cream cone. Maybe I'm not as emotionally involved as I should be, or maybe Jeremy and Christine were more emotionally involved as they should be. God knows.

"All this crying is making me exhausted," Christine complains through tears, laying her head on my shoulder. Usually I'd be repulsed by that, but Christine is such a small happy ball of trustworthiness that it actually made me calm down more than it made me tense.

"You wanna go to bed?" I ask, leaning my head on hers, to which she responds with a yawn.

"Can you get me some blankets from the blanket closet, Jere?" She asks. The blanket closet?

I sputter: "Wh—wha—Unbelievable!" The blanket closet is real? It isn't just a myth? Why do Christine and Jeremy both know what a blanket closet is? How is this possibly a common occurrence? Why don't I have a blanket closet? Am I not worthy of one?

Less than a minute later, Jeremy has around seven giant blankets draped around him, which he then proceeded to slam down to the ground. Christine calmly took two of them and wrapped herself up, deciding to take the couch.

"So, you're going to bed now?" I ask. It's only 1AM. I haven't gone to a lot of sleepovers in my days, but usually they stay up a bit later than this, right?