I love you, Wahoos — and every single falsity below makes me love you all the more.
When your parents ask if you’re eating well, you respond, “Of course! I had baked chicken and broccoli for dinner tonight because my friend with the meal plan swiped me into the dining hall.” Ninety-two percent of the time, this is wildly untrue — you actually only had time for a cup of Greek yogurt and a bag of nacho cheese Doritos.
When your friends ask what you’ve eaten that day, you respond, “Just, like, a salad and some Greek yogurt.” Ninety-eight percent of the time, this is wildly untrue — you actually just consumed half of O-Hill in the span of 40 minutes. You may or may not have depleted the supply of fries. The ice cream machine will henceforth cower in fear whenever you walk within 20 feet.
“I love the rain,” quoth the soggy Cavalier — before bitterly admitting to him or herself rain is desirable only because it lends an excuse to wear Bean Boots. Nothing seems quite as cruel as dropping that much dough on one pair of boots only to encounter minimal rain and snow. If I spend all my money, it sure as hell better rain at least once a week. Those suckers need to prove their worth.
“I’m going to cheer on the Wahoos in every single football game this fall!” Yes, we all have said it — at least three times. And I applaud those who mean it. People like you keep our dwindling football spirit from being discovered by the Hokies. As for the rest of us, we’ll make this same vow of dedication to the basketball team — and probably keep it.
“I hate the whole ‘girls wear pearls’ fashion. I’m not a girly girl! I do not want to wear pearls. That is such a U.Va. stereotype — sexism at its finest, right there.” I shall admit to my fellow empowered females how often I have said this in some form or another. I say it, but I am beginning to believe I don’t always mean it. I like my pearls, and I like feeling fancy when I wear them. If a Hokie ever tries to condemn my class — as they so often try to — I shall turn on my little “elitist” heel and saunter away, swinging my pearls lavishly ‘round my finger.
“I was so drunk. I was literally black-out.” What even is “literal” blackout-ness? This phrase has eluded a clear definition for far too long. Someone help a girl out and define a standard. In any case, if you hear someone claiming he or she was “literally blackout,” enter the conversation with some skepticism.
“I studied for my test and I still failed the entire thing.” This is probably not true — yet every single time we say it, we feel as badly as if it were. What do we really mean? “I reviewed my notes for 30 minutes and then went to bed. Sleep is important, y’all.”
“I just got my test back and I did really, really badly. I absolutely cannot afford to not ace the final.” You lying little Wahoo, you! There is no way you genuinely failed your test. You go to Mr. Jefferson’s University, and as such, you are simply a perfectionist who mourns the loss of your high school glory days. Amend your lamentation to this: “My professor gave me a B- on my last test. This is unacceptable. I require perfection.”
Laura’s column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at l.holshouser@cavalierdaily.com.
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