Dear Yuantee,
After many years of playing the field, I've finally met a girl here at Tufts I'd be hip to date. Word is, however, she's not into dating frat guys, and, by golly, I'm a frat guy. Sure, I like to get twisted on hooch, even splifficated every once in a while, but I'm no dewdropper, and I certainly ain't no drug−store cowboy. I'm done tired of the same old quiffs and prom−trotters, but this rabbit −− she's a real peach, a deb−and−a−half, the bee's knees. I'd Zhu anything for her, except de−brother, of course. So Yuantee, old sport, what should I Zhu? −−Panic on Pro Row PP,
Well, PP, you done had me at "by golly." I identify with your problem because I dated a girl for seven months sophomore year who was viciously opposed to dating frat guys. I wasn't one, but that's beside the point. You want a certain type of girl, and I know the type.
First, you're completely correct to honor your allegiance to your brotherhood. Dropping out would be a terrible idea. If this girl is every bit the Sheba you say she is, and she doesn't date frat guys, she definitely doesn't date quitters.
I mentioned I knew the type. Here's one right now, here in the Tower Café, where I'm writing this, where I always write this.
She doesn't need glasses but wears them anyway. She's too cool for the North Face jacket. She prefers yogurt to cereal. She drinks coffee for the taste. She has a tattoo you can't see. She's a B cup, evidently. She never wears heels, except to organized dances; she never wears sneakers except to train for the marathon. Her friends find her attractive, but they don't need to tell her. She's Andie MacDowell from "Groundhog Day." She likes boats but not the ocean. When she stands in the snow, she looks like an angel. It snowed a lot this winter.
She can play three chords on the guitar and four songs. She has large, sensitive areolas. She doesn't sing but has a beautiful voice. She likes her garden salads, but she loves her red meat. She smokes when she drinks, and she drinks twice a week. She's comfortable dancing alone. She looks simply stunning in cobalt blue. She's bi−curious. She finds my column hilarious. She might be a C cup. You'll find her every Thursday night at The Burren rocking out with a Carlsberg to her favorite Tufts band, Knives for Sale. She's never heard of Timeflies. She eats phallus−shaped foods tenderly, carefully and knows exactly what she's doing. She just ordered a banana. And a yogurt.
Right now, you have the upper hand in the soon−to−be−established relationship. This is because she thinks she knows everything about you because you're in a frat (i.e. you think you're the man even though you aren't, you smell and so forth). But you know these stale, frat−boy stereotypes don't apply to you. So you need to challenge her preconceptions. Show her you can assume as much about her as she can about you.
Ask her out. When she says "No, I don't date frat guys," you say, "I bet I can assume more about you than you can about me. I bet, in the snow, you look like an angel. What are you, a B cup?"
"I might be a C cup, actually," she'll say. "And clean your godd-- bathroom."
You'll say, "I assume you've never even heard of Timeflies."
Then, she'll say, "I bet I can assume you're an a-hole," before falling into your open guns. Then take her to your basement, old sport, and show her who you really are.
At least, that's what I would Zhu.
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Yuantee Zhu is a senior majoring in biology. He can be reached at Yuantee.Zhu@tufts.edu.
