Ivy of AUC

I went to college at a small liberal arts school in New England. It was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I loved it there and still think of it as a second home. So many interesting and formative things happened there and such important influences wrought change and growth. I was exposed to many things and people, the likes of which I'd never seen in my home.
When I went off to college I thought I'd probably meet Mr. Right, date him through college, then get married right after graduation. We would live happily ever after, right there in New England, hopefully.
After the first few months of school, my friends and I had scoped out all the guys with any potential, as far as we were concerned. We decided that the guys who we'd like to go out with wouldn't be asking us. And the guys we wanted to avoid, were going to pursue us. In fact, something very much like this did happen.

There was this big lumpy oaf--Phred--we'll call him, who had a very high voice and an even higher opinion of himself. He also looked like Mortimer Snerd. He showed up everywhere I went and I didn't like him even a little bit. But there he'd be, waxing eloquent about something he thought I needed to hear, all the while smiling condescendingly at me. Then there was Reggie, who had a lovely tenor voice, and who used to sing his heart out in the practice rooms in the music department. However, he wasn't a voice major, and wasn't even a music student. He would just go into a practice room adjacent to me and belt out the same song for an hour: If Ever I Would Leave You from Camelot:

If ever I would leave you

It wouldn't be in summer.

Seeing you in summer

I never would go.

Your hair streaked with sun-light,

Your lips red as flame,

Your face witha lustre

that puts gold to shame!

But if I'd ever leave you,

It couldn't be in autumn.

How I'd leave in autumn

I never will know.

I've seen how you sparkle

When fall nips the air.

I know you in autumn

And I must be there.

And could I leave you

running merrily through the snow?

Or on a wintry evening

when you catch the fire's glow?

If ever I would leave you,

How could it be in spring-time?

Knowing how in spring

I'm bewitched by you so?

Oh, no! not in spring-time!

Summer, winter or fall!

No, never could I leave you at all!

Ick. I used to cringe listening to these dramatic portamentos (dramatic vocal swoops) up to, and down from, high notes. He would linger on certain meaningful words like lips. Yeech! He sounded as if he had his mouth right up against the wall between our practice rooms. I would crash louder on the piano and begin bellowing Verdi or Mahler just to drown him out. When he sang at the college talent show and won grand prize, he accepted his trophy and looked knowingly right at me, sitting in the third row. I wanted to fall under my chair.

Then there was Jack, who was a pre-med student. He was tall, gangly, and bearded guy who had a nice singing voice. We sang together in the two choirs of which we were members. I think he had an interest in me because every time I walked over to the music department, he'd come trotting out of the dormitory and walk with me. Jack was a very likable person, and I enjoyed chatting with him. He was considerate, kind-hearted, and very intelligent. But he was utterly clueless when it came to women. His mother had handpicked a tall, slender blond girl out for him and rumor had it that he'd have hell to pay if he defied his mother in any particular. Yet for an entire school year he continued to follow me around like a puppy dog. Once, when he took me ice skating, I asked him if he had any interest in dating anyone and he looked at me for a long time before saying that he wasn't sure. That was followed up with a complete change of topic onto something stimulating like quantum physics or calculus. We had just gotten into his beaten up old Ford station wagon for him to drive me back to the dorm. I was so irritated that I jumped out of his car and slammed the door rather hard. Amazingly, all the windows dropped down into the car doors from the force of the door being slammed. I marched off in indignation whilst Jack scurried from door to door of his car, rolling up each window. Clearly, he wasn't going to work out.

My friends commented that they were having a difficult time getting dates with guys. The men on campus seemed to have their feet firmly planted in cement and their head in the clouds. I managed to go on a walk to an old cemetery near the college with an Italian guy who was the heart throb of many girls on campus (me, included). But he was a theology student and seemed to have his mind somewhere else than on me. He was always pronouncing his triple-barreled name with great penache and wondering aloud if it didn't sound worthy of a leader high up in church hierarchy. I just liked his Italian name.
There were two absolutely dashing Canadian guy and a quite debonnaire Englishman. But I was followed around by a little Chinese math student who came up to my armpit.

There was also this guy on campus who was as crazy as a junebug. He always wore white: a white suit, shoes, socks--the whole schmere. And he had religious delusions. He believed that since the Bible said that Jesus will address "the goats" on his left hand on the Day that he is to separate the sheep from the goats, that he was never to turn to the left. Therefore, you'd see this guy walking down the sidewalk toward the cafeteria, which was on his left. As he'd get closer to where the sidewalk went left, you'd see him take three fast right turns and end up going left in that roundabout way. It was a most arresting sight. He was tall, skinny, and had a severe expression on his very good-looking face. But who would want to get involved with someone like that?

Clearly, we had to do something. My friend, Trina, and I put our heads together one day and came up with a plan. We'd antagonize all the desirable men on campus, since we couldn't get their attention any other way. Trina was well known and wildly extroverted. I was visible because of my singing, but I came across as very serious and someone who kept to myself. No one knew what my handwriting looked like, and I'd be the last person they'd suspect to do anything like this. As Trina dictated, I wrote 20 identical notes to the most date-worthy men on campus, using the most suggestive and salacious language we could come up with at the time:

Dear _______,

I've been watching you for several weeks now and have come to admire you. Actually, I can't keep my eyes off you. You have a wonderful mind, good personality, and great body . The problem is that I'm very shy and I don't know how to speak with you. But I'm very interested in forming a relationship with you and I think about you all the time. I think you would be pleasantly surprised to know who I am. If you're interested to discover my identity, would you mind wearing a plaid shirt and sitting at one of the back two tables in the cafeteria on Thursday during lunch? Then I will know that my advances are welcome and I'll make myself known to you in the warmest way soon afterward.

Looking forward to an intimate liaison (I can't wait!)

Ivy

We dropped the notes into Campus Mail on Monday afternoon and waited, feeling as if on pins and needles. Thursday morning around 11:00, we went into the cafeteria with our books and sat at one of the front tables, spreading out everything as though we were working on a project together. And we waited. Pretty soon, here came John galloping into the cafeteria wearing a bright red plaid flannel shirt. He looked like he was going hunting, which was strange, since he was very GQ and was typically preppy in his dress taste. He got his food and went to the back of the cafeteria. We almost died. In came Tim, wearing a very subtle window pane plaid in beige and white. You'd have to look at him closely to know it was a plaid. I guess he was rather uncommitted to this whole thing. He also went to the back of the cafeteria and sat at the table behind John. We kept our heads down and wrote all sorts of gibberish on our papers, trying to look studious and involved in our work.

This went on for nearly an hour as the cafeteria filled up. There, at the back of the cafeteria, was a cadre of about 15 guys in plaid shirts of every type. They were conferring together about something serious, but occasionally laughing rather loudly--the way guys do who have been had and are embarassed. We got our food, ate, and wrapped up our "project" and left. They remained in the cafeteria.

The next day there was a letter to Ivy in the school newspaper, pointing out that Ivy was essentially a ditz brain because the author's letter had been left off at the dormitory. If Ivy had been watching him as much as she said she was, she'd know that he lived with his parents up on the hill above the college. He also complimented us on our clever idea and wondered why we had to resort to insulting 20 guys instead of using our feminine charms.

We snuck down to the newspaper office late at night and slipped a note under the door. It was printed in the next newspaper that came out. I have no recollection of what it said except that the men on campus wouldn't recognize a feminine charm if it landed in their laps. Of course, it was in my handwriting. But since no one in this crowd of guys had ever looked over my shoulder, no one ever knew it was me.

Pete once cornered Trina and told her that he knew that she was Ivy, but she just laughed and denied it (truthfully) telling him that it was not her.

No one ever found out that I did this or that I was behind it in any way. I didn't get the expected results, but I had a lot of laughs.

Just as I have with all these bad dates over the years. If you can't change the way things are, reframe the whole situation by finding the enjoyable, funny, or intriguing aspects of it to focus on. This continues to be a major cornerstone of my worldview.