I refuse to wear a girdle for you, 1950's Mari gown! Do you hear me? Refuse!

Vera Wang is the only dress allowed to put me in a corset.

One of the great injustices in my world, I think, is my figure's stubborn refusal to fit into my pale green, vintage designer 1950's dress. 3/4 sleeves with butterfly cuffs, a crinoline skirt that flirts with the hem, and a fabric-covered belt buckle. I own a flyaway straw-coloured hat ribboned with pink, and a tiny, dark green handbag shaped with a breadbox with a tarnished gold clasp. I even have matte black character shoes (remnants from a theatrical past) to match my sweet little dream of an outfit.

But no.

Fashion is so unfair.

Today's Honors Freshman Writing class was, frankly, an unmitigated disaster.

I performed the literary equivalent of appearing at a dance club in a formal gown. Namely, during the "introduce yourself using clever slips of paper" activity, I actually endeavoured to write something. Which, of course, resulted in my very poetic description of my character looking utterly ridiculous next to "My name is Tom. I am an electrical engineer. I like swimming and computers."

. . .can someone please explain to me why there are three electrical engineering majors in the class, and only one English major besides me?

I would like to make the following remarks.

1) Members of the Dream Team must meet in person. There's no help for it.

2) Snape looks sexy, not gay (not that there's anything strictly wrong with gay, as I read slash, but I prefer to think of my Snape as being exclusively heterosexual. Just because I'm greedy that way) in the dueling scene.

3) Pink aprons and eyeliner are attractive.

Thank you.