Well. As of the writing of this article, it has been two weeks since I moved onto campus, kicking off my freshman year of college and the next four years of my life. And, so far, no one has married me yet.
There are 3223 students currently attending Barnard. There are 36,649 Columbia undergrads. 7,200 total faculty. 1 president. 1 interim president. This is allegedly the most populous city in the world. Yet no one is populating my twin-sized bed.
It makes me sick to my stomach. I’ll date anything that moves and quite a few things that don’t. Everyone thinks I’m kidding when I talk about how hot the Alma Mater statue is. I’m not. Wikipedia translates her name as, “Nourishing mother.” I wish she would nourish me.
At night, I scroll through social media and see all of my friends who are almost certainly in the process of getting married. I sing along to “Not Strong Enough,” but I switch lyrics from “always an angel, never a god” to “always a bridesmaid, never a bride.” I don’t even like boygenius but my god I would like a woman. I cry myself to sleep thinking of all of the spouses that I have let down by being stuck in this hellish school in this hellish city where no one will propose to me.
I can become anything, be anyone. INCLUDING YOUR WIFE! What’s your favorite movie? Me too! Your best hype song? I love that one! Tell me a joke? Ha ha! You should do stand-up! I don’t know what more you people want from me. I gave myself bangs! I collect vinyls (and I have a record player)! I will not pierce my ears. I have to draw the line somewhere.
I’ll give it three more days then I’m transferring to a college that isn’t listed by the New York Times as “least likely to get married.”
(410) 768-7000 (call me!)
998 Reid Hall (visit me!)
If you see me on campus (Starting next week, I will send around my headshots so you know what to look for) please do not hesitate to propose on sight. I will say yes.
