At the beginning of our college freshman year, I thought a longtime high school friend and I had pinky swore we weren’t going to do the sorority thing. I remember this making me feel better because I was a) broke, b) insecure, and c) hadn’t yet mastered the critical skill required to properly cuff my pant legs without ridicule.
Apparently we didn’t because it wasn’t long before my friend was doing some kind of crazy signal with her hands and dressing up all the time and, you know what? She totally joined a sorority! Whaaaa? (In my friend’s defense, once my roommate lofted our beds ten inches from the ceiling I became preoccupied with the mechanics of ever sleeping again, so maybe a sorority would have been one thing too many?)
All the same, I was kind of devastated over missing the GO GREEK! train. My friend seemed super happy and there I was, spending my freshman year with a girl who was slowly asphyxiating me with a can of White Rain before Western Civ every morning. Looking back, she had great bangs and, as a result of overspray, so did I. Ultimately a win-win.
That, my friends, pretty much sums up what I know about sororities. Cool clothes, funky hand signals and happiness. I have Riley to thank for suddenly becoming utterly and completely smitten with the idea of sororities 20-some years later. Her Rush session with me last weekend was so awesome I may even start my own sorority for middle-aged mothers who are too tall to cuff their pants within regulation. This could be a thing, right?