March 9, 2003

  • MEN.  Our other roommate Sallie, a tall "California" blonde majoring in Industrial Arts (I'm still undeclared but under the gun to commit to something SOON), dropped by one of her prof's offices this week to ask a question about the term paper and happened into a wierd three's-a-crowd scene.   Behind his closed door was that pretty prissy cloudy-haired girl who always spoke up so righteously in class, posed confidently on the edge of his desk in a tight woolen skirt and cashmere sweater.  The last person we'd suspect of A-For-A-Lay, but I guess "it takes all kinds," as Dad always says.  Dr. Angus had to ruin all chances of personal redemption by glowering and asking, "Would that be all?"  a phrase Pantene Girl snottily repeated, again removing all doubts as to what was going on.  Poor Sal.  I had Angus once and he always paused at the chalkboard like Indiana Jones to glare at me for tucking one of my hands between my legs because they were cold.  I didn't mean anything by it and didn't care; not my type of guy, and I don't even think of playing the game, being smart enough to get decent grades most of the time even without studying (a quality Brett just MIGHT be a little jealous of).   He only reminded me of my homeroom teacher freshman year of high school, Mrs. Bertrile, an elderly lady who straight off gave us girls a rather Victorian lecture not to sit "Eiffel Tower style" in class.  But a man with a cute young wife who probably quit school to raise their three small children.  Really, the whole thing makes me feel like calling Jeremy and taking him up on that movie.