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I remember the night like it was yesterday. I was a student living in Columbia, South Carolina, a college town with a bar scene that mostly caters to fishbowl-fisting bros in seersucker fraternity garb. Anyone who doesn't fit that very specific demographic seeks refuge at dusty house parties with handles of Taaka vodka and Busch Light. Not one for beer, I always opted for syrupy mixed drinks (like Malibu bay breezes and tequila sunrises), which taste delicious going down but leave gnarly next-day hangovers even the greasiest fast food can't cure. Plus, they make you puke.

By the time I entered my junior year of college, my mind, soul, and liver collectively said, "Enough!" I couldn't continue drinking jungle juice like a wide-eyed freshman, so I swapped my sugary, Carnival cruise-brand cocktails for rosé. The only problem? You don't get nearly as much liquid in a cheap wine bottle as you do in a cheap liquor bottle—a colossal deal for a 21-year-old who's just looking to ~turn up.~

But boxed wine is the exception. When my friends invited me to a house party in the middle of nowhere—an oddly common activity in the South, which I'd never do now because murderers—I stopped by my local Walgreens to stock up. I was just about to drop some serious coins (21-year-old speak: $9) on a small bottle of rosé when I saw it: a mammoth box of wine, standing proudly in aisle four like resurrected Jesus...or Beyoncé.

I approached it cautiously. Was this a mirage brought on by my collegiate desire to eat drink, drink, and be merry? Closer inspection revealed this mystery box housed five liters of sweet nectar wine for only $15. Fifteen. Dollars. That was only $6 more than the wimpy bottle I was about to buy! I promptly returned the bottle to its shelf, scooped up the box, and brought it to the register like a giddy 6-year-old child. Huzzah! I finally found the answer to my biggest problem, and its name was Franzia Sunset Blush—or, as I fondly named him, FSB.

The first noticeable benefits of FSB were his price and longevity. He lasted me for weeks, so the $30 I typically spent on alcohol each week went to actual activities, like movies, museums, and Pizza Hut (it was college). However, FSB also tasted damn good—better than tequila sunrises and certainly better than the crappy bottled wine I was nursing beforehand.

His other benefits slowly (but surely) trickled out, too. FSB's easy dispensing spout meant I never had to sit up to refill my glass: I could stay horizontal the entire time. And there was no spillage! FSB's idiot-proof design kept my carpets clean—save for the time I deliberately poured wine on my carpet to defy Bryn, my puritanical landlord. (I was quite drunk.) Simply put, boxed wine was the cheap, lazy, and easy sustenance my reckless 21-year-old self needed.

But that was over two years ago. I'm 23 now, and my alcohol consumption has significantly decreased. (Going to class hungover and going to work hungover are two very different things!) However, I still contend that boxed wine is the greatest thing ever—and for many of the same reasons. The spout is great for my copious Netflix (no chill) sessions. I have bills to pay—in New York, no less, where it costs $5 to sneeze—so I still love a good boxed wine bargain. Plus, it hasn't lost its taste. Granted, I've upgraded to more fancy offerings, like Black Box's pinot noir. (I broke up with FSB when I graduated college, but still remember our time together fondly.)

Don't get it twisted, though: I'm not some primitive, uneducated caveman. I'm fully aware that there are more sophisticated modes of drinking alcohol, and I enjoy those, too. However, when it comes to what I keep stocked at home, boxed wine is my bread and butter. Who am I trying to impress?

Answer: No one. I'm just trying to get (responsibly) buzzed while lying down.