Tuesday, February 05, 2008

No, I Don't Have an Outlook Appointment With Your Name On It

Oh for Pete's sake, boys.

We've had the talk. I don't want to have it again. I didn't want it to come to this, but someone had to be a spokeswoman for the group, and I drew the short straw:


Dear Over-Exuberant Male 2Ls,

Honey-bunches-of-oats, I know. Its cold. All the pretty girls put their pretty selves into big, puffy jackets. Their hair is all frizzy, the weather is wretched, and the scenery just blows.

Now, you're lost, you're alone, and for some reason, you're single. I know. You've got a summer job, classes are in coasting season, and you need something to do with your time. We, as the women of the 1L class, have an announcement for you:

We know that you are single for a reason.

The thing is, sweet cheeks, many of your formerly adoring 1L cheerleaders have started to realize that you are not really experienced and glamorous- you're just old. Not that there's anything wrong with that- but your opportunity to be a big fish in our bewildered, overstimulated pond has passed by the wayside.

Sugar plum, I know you might think that you are hot stuff- Lord knows that we worked you over with the Innocent & Adoring Eyelashes on more than one occasion, and this has clearly caused some confusion. I know that we look cute- but we love you for your study aids, not for your date-worthiness. Girls are rough like that, Pudding.

Also, when you take our human kindness (don't lie to yourself, you look awkward and we pity you) for romantic overtures, its more confounding than endearing. Trust me, Love Muffin, this can't end well.

So, pookie, rather than leering in the library, I have a helpful suggestion for you. Take up a hobby. Like curling. Or crochet! But please.

Stop with the awkward hitting upon. Its uncomfortable for everyone. The 2L girls have clued us in. We're not naive and gullible anymore. We have standards. Even when its bar review.




PS: You, you, and you can stay. You're funny. Everyone else- keep your pants on.


All rights reserved to my snotty and generally self-deprecating writing. And if your comments bother me, I'll delete them. That's right, pumpkin.
...How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
-- Emily Dickinson