Is it summer already? Looking inside the Ondine dining hall, I’m not really sure. These freshmen diners, specifically the ladies, should take a moment from their wilted salads and look out the window.
Is it summer already? Looking inside the Ondine dining hall, I’m not really sure.
These freshmen diners, specifically the ladies, should take a moment from their wilted salads and look out the window. If these women did, they would notice the seasons have changed, as they often do, and it is no longer beach-going weather. But alas, as I have continually observed, these giggling friends continue to be completely oblivious to the leafless tress and sleeting rain.
It could be the thick layer of “South Beach Bronze” makeup they have plastered on their faces, which has created a cold-penetrating shield. It might even be the years of Nair-use on their legs that has deadened the nerves, blocking out the brisk weather. Whatever the reason, these young women prance about the rainy Park Blocks in skirts so short their Fallopian tubes are in clear view for the world to see.
The worst part about these women wearing their halter tops and mini-skirts in mid-winter is that they often wear them in sizes far too small. Please don’t get me wrong, I love curvy women. I think that people of all sizes should be respected and that Rosie O’Donnel’s and Paris Hilton’s should be able to coexist in the buffet line of life. But this will never happen until ladies stop buying hoochie clothes four sizes too small.
Ladies, as a gay man, you are my boo. But for the love of Jabba the Hutt, you are not fooling anyone when you squeeze your size-16 ass into a size-12 pair of low-rise jeans. No one, and I mean no one looks at you and thinks you’ve miraculously dropped 20 pounds on your last trip to the mall.
Let me revise that. There is one population that continues to be fooled by your misrepresentation of body size by over-stretched seams and zippers. Due to certain laws concerning libel, I will allude to this very dumb population in vague terms. For the purpose of this article alone, I will simply call them “PSU football players.”
If one was inclined to sip a latte with a paper at the Meetro on Saturday mornings, you can observe herds of these ladies, National Geographic style, stampeding out of West Hall around 7 a.m. With smeared eye makeup, wearing their “trophies” of stolen oversized varsity sweatshirts, and carrying their pointy shoes, they make knowing eye-contact with their fellow refugees fleeing from the building.
All college students get sick in the winter, regardless of how we dress. We are inside far too often and we spend far too much time making out with strangers at parties to stay well. So ladies, get with the weather. It’s cold outside.