I sat behind two females in one of my classes this semester.
Last week, one spent the entire class looking at wedding dresses. (She’s not engaged. I know this because law school is like middle school, and everyone knows everything about everyone else. Well, that and her incessant Facebook statuses about how her boyfriend is getting up there in age and needs to propose to her, otherwise he’ll be too old and no one will ever love him again. Seriously.)
The other spent the entire class ordering 15 copies of “The Bitch in the House: 26 Women Tell the Truth About Sex, Solitude, Work, Motherhood, and Marriage" for what I can only assume is a mostly-female book group.
Both have pictures of themselves and their respective boyfriends as their computer background. I’m guessing that they have slightly different relationships.
I’m in the library studying (read: surfing the internet) because it’s finals time, and that’s what people do during finals. I’m sitting in a little wooden carrel because I like privacy when I’m procrastinating. I have my boat shoes off, because I like to be comfortable when I’m procrastinating.
I’m even doing a little bit of work, which is just absolute gravy. I’m reading through an outline that I have printed out and I feel something on my foot.
I look down and SEE A FUCKING HAND UNDER THE WALL OF MY CARREL, GRABBING MY FUCKING FOOT.
The guy sitting in the carrel in front of me, WHO I DON’T KNOW, reached under the wall of my carrel and FUCKING CARESSED MY FOOT.
A STRANGER. GROPED MY BARE FOOT. WITH HIS HAND.
I don’t know what to do. Too much time has elapsed to confront him, which would have been entirely too awkward for my liking anyway. ”Hey dude, I heard you like feet so I took my shoes off so you could get down on your hands and knees in your carrel and reach under the wall and touch mine.”
I can’t concentrate anymore because I’m constantly looking down to ensure that there are no hands poking under the carrel wall. Plus my shoes are on now, which is just downright uncomfortable. How is a man supposed to study with shoes on?
This guy has unintentionally (intentionally? who fucking knows) performed the single most effective act of law school sabotage ever. Forget ripping pages out of books and hoarding outlines. Future law students, just go around and sneakily touch your classmate’s bare feet. They’ll never be able to study again.
Everyone, everywhere seems to be lamenting the state of modern courtship.
"Dating is dead!"
"The hookup culture is ruining a generation!"
"You’re such an asshole!"
Ah, sorry, I think that last one was specific to me. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit lately, and there are certainly things to be missed about the way dating used to work. Well, I’m kinda guessing that there are things to be missed, because I wasn’t really alive when people went to drive-in movie theaters and went on picnics and shit, but it sounds fun, right?
There is at least one thing that’s great about today’s entirely electronic courtship culture: I can write girls off almost immediately for bad grammar.
In 1972, how would I have ever discovered if a girl knew the difference between your and you’re? I would have had to wait until we were apart and writing each other letters, or maybe written an intentionally error-filled letter to the editor and asked her to proofread it. Or worse, I would have found out when we were writing thank you notes for our wedding gifts, which is entirely too late for my liking.
Now it doesn’t take more than a day of texting or gchatting, and boom. I can tell if she could pass a seventh grade English test. If she can’t, she’s done.
If she can, well, I’ll probably find something else I don’t like about her. But at least I don’t have to worry about marrying a girl who spells “definitely” with an “a”.
“I almost wish I hadn’t started lifting with you. Now when I shower, I leave the curtain open so I can look at myself in the mirror. I get water all over the floor.”—My roommate. Should I start charging him for my personal training services?
“Connecticut had the seventh-highest offensive rebounding rate in the country, and that’s primarily thanks to Oriakhi, whose huge frame can’t be moved off the block by anything less than a dumb truck.”—