This year, Cornell made the somewhat puzzling choice of scheduling Parents’ Weekend to coincide with Halloween. Obviously, whoever it is that makes those sort of decisions has more to consider than students’ drinking schedules, but seriously?! It’s the one weekend when everyone, even that quadruple-major engineer who hasn’t left his room all semester, goes out.

Saturday morning, after night #1 of Halloween (or #2 if you’re really into dressing up), I watched freshmen at CTB attempt to pass off their frequent sprints to the bathroom and inability to eat the food in front of them as bouts of the stomach flu, rather than hangover symptoms. Certainly, these awkward parent-child brunches happen regardless of Parents’ Weekend’s timing, but the scene was made all the more humorous by the parade of slutty cops, bumble bees and Lady Gagas walk-of-shaming through Collegetown.

#47: Do the Walk of Shame is perhaps one of the most commonly completed items on the 161 things list. According to a Playboy College Sex Survey released earlier this year, 47 percent of college students have done the walk of shame.

In my completely uneducated and baseless opinion, this number is likely much higher at Cornell. It’s difficult to convince yourself to get out of someone’s warm bed in Collegetown to trek through a blizzard to your own room on West; asking someone else to do this is just plain mean. Though Halloween certainly adds an amusing element to the embarrassing trek from the room of last night’s hookup, the walk of shame is pretty funny to watch even without the costume.

There was a girl dating someone in my freshman dorm who repeatedly walked back to her own room in the morning wearing men’s basketball shorts and high heels. Note: You may as well put on your dress from the night before — everyone knows you slept out. Or, borrow some flip-flops too and at least have a cohesive outfit.

Obviously, the more drastic discrepancy between girls’ day and nighttime looks makes it harder to spot male sleepover perpetrators. When there aren’t any heels to scream “haven’t been home yet,” observers must rely on more subtle signs. I once saw a guy walking to class sans backpack wearing an accessory given out as a favor at a crush party the night before. Having done the straight-to-class walk myself, albeit pre-planned and thus with school bag in tow, I might have had more sympathy for him had he not been generically dressed and thus able to remove all evidence of his sleep-out by putting the favor in his pocket. Deliberately advertising your walk-of-shame status? Totally unclassy and obnoxious.

My own most pathetic walk of shame story doesn’t even stem from a hookup. Sophomore year, I fell asleep face down on the bathroom floor of a frat, couldn’t find any of my stuff, and thought it would be wise to walk home at 3 a.m. alone. I wandered into my sorority house looking completely homeless and seriously pushing the limits of the clichéd adage that “sisters don’t judge.” The next morning back at the frat, my friend peeled a leather purse off his face. Apparently, I’d left my things in his room and forgotten about it.

Unlike me, some Cornellians are remarkably talented at doing the walk of shame gracefully. My particularly crafty roommate, preferring to avoid embarrassment entirely, once sent out a pseudo-mass text asking “someone” to bring her daytime-appropriate clothes that was actually sent only to our most congenial friend. A good choice — if I’d received the same message, I would have read it, laughed, pretended to be asleep, and eagerly awaited ridiculing her when she arrived home in smeared eyeliner and a sequined dress.

While walking through Collegetown all dolled up isn’t exactly an enjoyable experience, you’ve made your bed (or, more accurately, someone else’s), and it’s time to lie in it. Luckily, we’re all safe from parading past horrified parents in sailor hats and bunny ears — at least for another year.