Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, between the hours of 6 p.m. until about 10 p.m., the dorms are filled with giggling girls squirting hairspray and grooming themselves immaculately in preparation for potential “hook ups.” Eyes are lined and small patches of skin are strategically covered in order to invoke the quickest attraction time of the opposite sex. The last step is that they can’t possibly leave the dorm for their inebriation ritual until they have asked each person in the room at least three times if they look “OK.”

Don’t get me wrong, the boys are just as ridiculous. They carefully check to make sure that their shoes are spotless and that their hair is sculpted into a position that looks believably like they just rolled out of bed. But the most important precaution that the boys must make is to do a quick confirmation that none of them accidentally wore the identical plaid collared shirt from Abercrombie and Fitch. The variation between the shirts is slight, but just ask one of them. They will stand by their genuine love for plaid button ups.

Now ready, they are equipped to gather in sticky clubs and rub their bodies together to the pounding bass of mindless songs that they all know the words to. Then they stumble back to a bed and proceed to either pass out, ensue with the hook-up, or criticize the people that they saw that night with a blas