Requiem for the Past

I know that there are some people who will say that I never had a real college experience because of my undergrad at BYU. 

And you know what? I'd agree with them.

The most experimentation I did was seeing how long into fall semester I could wear sandals.

Instead of embracing my feminism and shedding the shackles of male oppression, I simply didn't shave my legs in winter out of laziness and a love of tights.

My Friday nights consisted of sugar-induced highs and mood-altering movies.

I perfected my wiles and honed my seduction skills through baking.

My Monday hangover was from staying up too late trying to flirt with that one guy at ward prayer.

The embarrassing photos that found their way to facebook were a result of FHE and "ice breaker" activities.

So, yes. My college experience was quite different.  But boy oh boy am I being thrown into the so-called real college culture here.

Want to know my biggest complaint?

Of course you do.

It's not that everyone gets to know each other by going out for drinks. It's not trying to pick out accents with swear words as punctuation. And it's not having to duck, slide, and alter my course altogether to try and avoid second-hand smoke.

No.

It's the lack of social and cultural acceptance of public napping.

I long for the days of claiming the couches in the JFSB. I relish my memories of curling up under the display case in the Benson building. And I fondly reminisce over resourcefully creating a nest.

But alas, we can never go back...

(Yes, I slept, and probably drooled, in all those locations; and quite a few more.)