When I was home for winter break, I mentioned here that I saw a car bedecked with "I just got into the University of Chicago!" written all over it. While it was a little bit sad to see that I would no longer be the only Santa Clarita native here at this school (I suppose I am a little bit exclusive), I left a note on the car and restrained myself from writing "You'll be mighty sorry."

In any case, I met up with this girl last week when she was here for prospie day. This is a day all the Ras, RHs, tour guide leaders, and all manner of University-affiliated fanatics dream about throughout the year: the day they get to influence someone's decision to attend this school, whether it be to confirm that they are indeed fit material for this school, or whether it is to make them feel like an outsider.

(Getting in off the wait-list here, I never got the chance to prospie. Which I wouldn't have done anyhow. Adventure is my middle name.)

I remember first year we got stuck with some prospies. I say stuck because the RAs on each floor had to make the rounds begging students to house these prospective people for a night. I remember that the two girls we had were blond, and that's it. I have no idea if they came to this school, if they were tall or short, had big or small ears, or if they had little button noses. They came and they left, life went on, we never hosted prospective students again.

Perhaps to assuage some latent guilt I felt about not being more hands on with these blond girls, I went out to eat with this young lady and two other prospective students she had with her. And as I sat across the table from them eating my grilled portabella mushrooms with them munching on some garlic bread, I decided that I, Adrianna Klara Gyorfi, would try to impart some invaluable insight to these young people ready to set out on their own, something that would begin an informative and critical part of their life. And when I announced this to them, and they turned their bright eyes upon me, eager to soak up each piece of wisdom I was willing to impart (at least, I'd like to think they were looking at me because they were interested. Not because the portabella mushroom was stuck to my nose), the only thing that came to my mind was that there was only 5 mere years separating me from these three people across the table from me, but man. Are those 5 years ever critical.

And I had no idea what to say. Not that I would say anything, I guess, now that I think about it. It was fun coming here without prospie-ing, without knowing what to expect. That was just my style, I suppose I'll let the prospies develop their own.

(I almost went on an end of college reflection post, but not yet. Not today.)