Open letter to my classmates

Dear classmates, fellow bus-riders and hall-dwellers,

I know that Spring Break has only just ended, but I would really appreciate it if you would be so good as to stop talking about the past week.

You might find this hard to believe, but the folks around you don't want to hear about how painful every step you take is thanks to that stellar hide-tanning sunburn you fostered in Florida or Mexico. Some of us don't want to watch you carefully inspect your arms and legs in the middle of lectures, and certainly don't want to sit next to you as you peel off strips of your skin and carelessly flick them onto the floor of the bus.

Personally, when you recount your drunken exploits with that guy that Keeli went tailgating with, but Tameka was talking to for a minute——you know, the one with that bleached emo haircut you saw that time at the tanning salon——and how you couldn't remember his name the next morning 'cause you were so "wasted", all I think of is how trashy that sounds.

I don't want to know about how many hot girls you slept with last week, how many beers you drank, or how wild the parties you went to were. I don't want to hear about how sick it was, or how sick you got, and I certainly don't want to hear about the "nasty rash thing on her expletive so dirty I refuse to type it" and how your friend can't pronounce gonorrhea correctly.

Please save these conversations for dorm rooms, facebook posts and text messages. Those of us who don't enjoy getting hammered, buck naked, crazy wild or horizontal with strangers would really prefer to quietly wallow in the misery that the post-Spring Break return to school brings out in all of us.

Thank you,

Jennifer

P.S.—— You should really get that rash checked. Seriously.