Reading days: for reading, not love

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Reading days: for reading, not love

Dear Kate,

I have a question about love. I’m a freshman and I think I met my soul mate this weekend. That reading day couldn’t have come at a better time. We spent the day walking around hand-in-hand, cuddling in the Grewcock Student Union, watching movies, and playing video games. You said that our task here at Hillsdale College was to find our spouse, get married, and start producing little Lincoln look-a-likes. Well, I’m doing the best I can. I wish we had more reading days to prance around campus with our friends, flirting with boys, and such. College is so much fun! Anyway, to my question: Do you think it’s possible to know you’ve found “the one” after only a day or two together? I just feel like this is meant to be.

Sincerely,

Head-in-the-clouds

 

Dear Idiotic Freshman,

Loans. Scholarships. Grants. Debt. Debt. More debt. Grace given by everyone from donors to your parents. Think about these words for a few moments. If you don’t see a connection, I doubt my little column can help you.

Now then, we need to have a discussion about proper reading skills. The only people on this campus that I advised to look for their husbands right now, even to the neglect of their school work, were senior women in their second semester who already know how to read!

Secondly, allow me to inquire what a “reading” day might be for? Oh, I don’t know, perhaps to read? Not only is a reading day in the middle of February somewhat… strange, but considering that every Saturday is a reading day, the idea that you spent the day “prancing” and “flirting” makes me want to throw up all of the carbs that I just wolfed down on account of Fat Tuesday. Please don’t use these words to describe the actions which you substituted for reading. It makes me quite ill. Need I remind you yet again that you are here to study?

As for your question, if I was crazy, out of my mind, and ready to be sent to an asylum, I might say something like this: I’m sure you’ve found the one man who completes your being in that 18-year-old boy you met two days ago. I can’t imagine someone more virtuous than a kid who spends eight hours straight playing video games every Saturday in the playground we call the union. Hold on to him, he’s a keeper.

Unfortunately for you, I’m quite sane (in some sense of the word), and therefore must tell you the truth: your quaint, blossoming “love” will fade, wither, and die in a matter of weeks. Find a desk in the library (which, surprisingly enough, was created as a place of peace for proper students to use for study and not a social hall) and get to work!

And finally, for the millionth time, stop cuddling in the union. Just stop — it’s not actually a playground.