It's snowing. The college closed at 3 PM. The four of us are all wearing our oversized Living the Hound Life t-shirts over black spandex leggings. One is drinking Wachusett Blueberry, one is drinking Bud Light, one is drinking white wine and one is drinking Smirnoff in some kind of fruit juice. The only thing missing is the fifth roommate; the overachieving real-life example of what all of humanity should be like, who graduated early so she could volunteer at an orphanage in Peru. Show-off.
We have ten weekends left, including this one. Only ten weekends left before the real world swallows us up. Ten weekends left to be completely immature and completely grown up at the same time.
And so here we are on a Wednesday afternoon, watching a combination of TLC and trashy MTV shows in our beautiful matching outfits, anxiously awaiting the 4 pm cocktail hour we have planned--featuring prosciutto quiche and the aformentioned classy beverages of choice.
We're a unique group of girls, to say the least, and we've come a long way since we showed up here one summer day in late August 2006.
We still have a long way to go.
And we still have ten weekends left to build up our bank account of college memories.
But the time when Wednesday afternoon snowstorm cocktail hours will no longer be relevant to our lives is fast approaching.
So when Nicki comes out of her room at 3:57 PM when I'm taking a break from a history paper and asks me why there isn't a Wachusett Blueberry in my hand in preparation for the cocktail hour, instead of calling upon my better judgement and using the unexpected time off to do work, I quickly oblige.
Turns out, I was calling upon my better judgement. If every Wednesday afternoon between now and May could have a cocktail hour built somewhere into it, this semester would be perfect.