I woke up to a lovely e-mail from Miss Mo Cooke this morning, reminding me and my eight sophomore-year roommates that it’s June 17, or 617, the day everyone should be celebrating the year that all nine of us co-habitated in a three-bedroom dorm and didn’t kill each other.
Between all the “notes from the management,” the trash, the singing, the puke in the middle of the hallway and the Easy Mac (sorry), it’s a wonder we made it through to junior year. But I’m glad it all happened, every single minute, and I wouldn’t change it one bit.
Love to all my ladies. I miss you guys so much!