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.
But when late August dawned, it was as though I lived in a nine-floor hotel where I was the only guest.
The room service might have been subpar, but the elevator was always on my floor, waiting for me to press the button.
The Agora was my personal chef, and I could sleep eight hours straight without disruption.
And just when I thought that week couldn’t be sweeter, I became an RA in Granville my sophomore year.
While most of the year I thought slowly pulling out my toenails one by one might be more pleasurable than spending a night on my own floor, rush week was a time when all seemed right in the world.
No one pulled fire alarms, study lounge couches stayed out of the elevator and no one banged on my door at 4 a.m. just for kicks.
And now that I have 21 years behind me, every benefit rush offers is at my disposal.
The Greek community is 17 percent of the University’s undergraduate population.
But even though they’re a fraction of the student body, somehow the sidewalks of Franklin Street seem pleasantly roomier with just those 83 percent of us wandering through them.
Without lines of the eager underaged wrapping around the building, I might even venture to Pantana Bob’s one day this week.
But I truthfully will be happy to have a house full of roommates again. (I might even get some free sorority house desserts out of it.)
Until then, let us enjoy our time apart, Greek community.
Our hearts could grow fonder before we know it.
Yes, these next couple of weeks will work out splendidly for us both.
“No booze, no boys?”
Sounds good. More booze and boys for me.