My roommate ate all my chocolate bunnies that I brought back from Easter. I could kill him, Norma--the Easter Bunny brought those for me. Mad as Hell in Hurlbut
I see the real problem here, and it's not your roommate. The problem is you. You believe in the Easter Bunny. You are living in a fantasy world. Give it up, before you hurt others in your violent attempts to hang onto myth. And your roommate, I would imagine, is only trying to help you let go.
I did not go anywhere for spring break, unfortunately. I just stayed in my room, paid my $67 for more dining hall food, and moped. I am currently holed up in my room hiding in shame. How can I face the unforgiving Harvard social scene without a great spring break to talk about? I need a good plan, fast. I'm lonely and have already paid my $1,200 for the board plan. Didn't Get Away in Grays
In short, here's your story for use at future dorm gatherings, study breaks, keggers and whatnot: "I did the Harvard Library Spring Getaway. The package included hotel accommodations at Widener, Lamont and Hilles, with littler side trips to Cabot, Pusey and the house libraries. Every night there were cocktails and entertainment in the Woodberry Poetry Room. I met a fabulous special someone in Gov Docs. And I'm so happy to have gotten a head start on my tan. It was just like Kathie Lee said it would be."
Um, I might be a little early, but would you be our speaker for Class Day? A Fan from the Class of `94
Sadly, I cannot accept your request as to do so would compromise the anonymity necessary to be Harvard's most trusted advice source. In addition, I suffer from stage fright and cannot bear public speaking. And finally, I hear that you Harvard students are in the habit of protesting your speakers. No thank you, ingrates. After all I've done for you.
This past weekend the Captain sprang forward, and I'm not talking about my clock (which by the way is set to Love Central Time all year long!). That's right, I...I...oh, who am I trying to kid? Norma, I'm living in a personal hell. Sure I bed beauties left and right but I don't like it. My swagger and strut, that enticing "let's get natural" gleam in my eye, it's all a facade. I've been writing to you for weeks trying to find some purpose in it all. It isn't there, Norma. I don't want help or anything. Just thought you'd like to know. Captain XY, Esq.
Dear Captain XY,
Mother of God, you have "rocked my world." I need some time to think.