The key to understanding Valentine's Day, as everyone knows, is the Hallmark card. And I think here's where our problem begins; Dartmouth and Hallmark are living in completely different worlds -- just try to find the "I'm sorry I peed on you" card or the "To my booty call, on this Valentine's Day" card in CVS.
Okay, so Dartmouth doesn't quite match the picture that Hallmark has crafted for us. We aren't being picked up from Gile on white horses that whisk us off to some snow-covered Vermont chateau. But I know that you have had some pretty priceless moments over cheese fries. Even if it was in Foco. On your DBA. At least he lent you those sweats, right? So you didn't have to wear that chilly formal dress, early '80s attire, or tackies outfit back to your dorm the next morning?
Maybe romance is dead. But what has taken its place? From freshman trips onward, in response to all of this College's quirks, we hear and say, "Oh, yeah, well, it's different at Dartmouth." What, then, is a truly D-style love affair?
I decided to ask around for a few suggestions. And it turns out that the Dartmouth love ode would be a little snarkier than the rosy verses Mr. Hallmark could supply. Less sweet, more sass. Fewer bouquets, more pong. Less romance, more ridiculousness.
So here it is, my friends. A love poem, from the Dartmouth daughters to the sons. Take that, romance.
To adorable boys in our early morn' classes,
Thanks for inspiring us each day to get up off our asses.
To the boys who pissed on us, our beds and our iPods,
Don't drink more than your bladder can handle, you clods.
To the men who lifted us out of batch or the snow,
Thanks for the hand when we'd reached a new low.
To the boys who no longer have their belts, boxers or hats,
Sorry, they're comfortable -- you never asked for them back.
To the guys who drove us lest we do walks of shame,
We appreciate it, creeping 'cross the Green is so lame.
To the guys to whom we'll be too shy to say hi,
Wishing we weren't so coy that we let you pass by.
To exes with whom we can't make eye contact,
We're sorry, it's too hard knowing we can never go back.
To the boys who rolled over to say, "How did you get here?"
Don't worry, we were wondering the same thing, my dear.
To the friends who brought Collis soup to us, ill,
That delivery did more than any tonic or pill.
But to the boys who GAVE us mono, pink eye or flu,
You'll feel really bad if we die from this, dude
(Or, who knows, we may just pass it right back to you).
To the sketchsters that corner us with grinding and bumping,
Back off, the dance floor's not ready for such humping.
To the boys who have fixed our Macs and our Dells,
Thanks for helping us out of computer failure hell.
To the guys we can call just to cuddle and spoon,
Thanks for the warm bed, we'll see you again soon.
To the boys in the basement who got us drinks so fast,
Thanks for the Keystones, but that won't get you ass.
To the wasty-face boys who boot all over our floor,
We hope you know that cleaning up is your chore.
To the boys we have left at 1 a.m. or 2,
Sorry, my friends, but we had shit to do.
To the guys with stuff to throw when relationships end,
Thanks for the anger management lessons -- you're a true friend.
To the boys who cannot decide what they want,
Get your act together because waiting ain't fun.
To the hook-ups we met in the loo (damn that lock),
We're glad we met you, but next time learn how to knock.
To the guys who said "dayum, girl," even if you were drunk,
Thanks for the compliment but don't slap our ass, punk!
To the guys who actually took us out of Hanover for meals,
You're awesome! You're charming! You're mature! For reals.
To the upperclassmen who taught us our first game of pong,
We were innocent then but that didn't last long.
And to each Dartmouth Romeo who's made life intriguing,
Happy Valentine's Day! What are you up to this evening?
