Friday, Sept. 4 marks the first day of sorority rush. And though it pains me to say it, I love every blessed minute of the process.
Somehow I escaped the call of the Greek Sirens my first year of college, and I am happily “unaffiliated” to this day. So this time of year means something different to me.
Instead of philanthropy and sisterhood, it means a lot of solid me-time.
This year, I live in a house with four girls who are all in sororities. The Abbey Party started last Friday when rush practice began, and the blissful silence of a house to myself has continued ever since.
No, I don’t throw afternoon parties or host séances with my closest Wiccan friends.
And, to be clear, I thoroughly enjoy the company of all of my roommates, most of whom I’ve known for years.
But sometimes it’s just nice to open the front door to an empty couch and a DVR all my own.
And this isn’t the first year I’ve soaked in an empty abode with an appreciation I thought I’d never know.
Although I resisted the lure of Greek row my freshman year, I somehow still wound up living in Granville Towers West, the home of tiny Greek seedlings just waiting to bloom.