From JuJu with Love

Pentagon City sleepover: poor decisions, great memories

There are nights you remember clearly…

…and then there are nights like this one — where you remember just enough to know it definitely happened, but not enough to explain how.

All I know for sure is this:

We had been out drinking in Washington, D.C.

Pentagon City was the closest place anyone lived.

And somehow, six — maybe seven — of us piled into a single taxi and decided my studio apartment was the logical next stop.

Logical might be a stretch.

What I do remember is opening the door to my apartment and watching what can only be described as a slow-motion collapse of adults who had clearly made several questionable decisions.

There were no beds for this situation.

No plan.

No extra anything.

And yet… everyone managed.

People grabbed whatever they could find — sweatshirts, t-shirts, probably things I didn’t even know I owned — and made themselves at home on my floor like it was completely normal.

At some point, my apartment stopped being my apartment and turned into a full-blown group sleepover that absolutely no one had planned… and somehow, no one questioned.

And then there’s the part I remember most clearly —

Which makes absolutely no sense.

I have this vivid memory of Rob standing in my kitchen the next morning,

wearing my shorts and a t-shirt… casually cooking bacon.

Bacon.

In my apartment.

I don’t even eat bacon… so apparently I hosted a breakfast I couldn’t attend.

Now, for context — I’m Jewish.

There is absolutely no scenario where I had bacon sitting in my refrigerator waiting for a morning like this.

Not then. Not ever.

So to this day, I have questions.

Where did it come from?

Did someone bring it with them?

Did Rob leave at some point and go get it?

Was there a late-night grocery run that I completely missed?

I have no idea.

What I do remember is the smell of bacon filling my apartment… and a group of slightly hungover adults acting like this was all completely normal.

Like yes, of course — we all ended up here…

and naturally, someone is now making breakfast meat that definitely did not originate in this home.

And the funniest part?

I still laugh every time I think about that night.

It doesn’t come back as a full story — just flashes.

The taxi.

The chaos.

The feeling that we had somehow all ended up exactly where we were supposed to be… even if none of it made any sense.

And then there’s the proof.

I have pictures — actual pictures — of everyone asleep on the floor of my apartment.

Bodies everywhere. Blankets improvised. People completely passed out like this was the most normal thing in the world.

So I know it happened.

I just don’t know how it happened.

Or how Rob ended up in my clothes making bacon…

in a kitchen that definitely didn’t have bacon.

When I asked Rob if he remembered that morning, his response was immediate:

“I honestly don’t remember where the bacon came from. Someone must have gone to the store… but I doubt it was me if I was wearing your shorts.”

To this day, I still don’t know where the bacon came from.

I don’t know why Rob was wearing my shorts.

And I definitely don’t know how six or seven of us ended up sleeping on my apartment floor.

But I do know this —

Those were some of the best nights of my life.

And if any of us had tried to explain that night to an HR department…

we all would’ve been fired by morning.

Instead…

we just made bacon.

From Juju with love 💙🥓