Most bigs spend their time inside of their rooms, meticulously planning their every gift, and combining all of their greatest crafting talents together to create a cornucopia of beautiful presents for reveal. This is not that story. I had spent the majority of that semester standing on tables, pouring champagne into sisters’ mouths directly from the bottle, but the day had finally come. It was the eve Big-Litte Reveal, and I had come to realize that I had yet to begin the daunting task of crafting for my soon-to-be little. The events that subsequently tanspired are slightly unclear, but inevitably true.
4:21pm- On campus, I have a run-in with a prepared soon-to-be big. She shows me countless photos of Martha Stewart-esque crafted trinkets and gifts — all covered in glitter, all make me hate every fiber of her being.
4:24pm- A mild stroke begins when the realization sets in that I have yet to begin crafting. I sort out my options. Internet or bribery? How have I made it this far in college, putting in the least amount of effort? Good, ole, reliable, Addy. I make a desperate call to every sister, pledge, and recent shack until I hunt down what feels like the Canary Diamond of the college world.
5:01pm- I enter the great room of my sorority house with two storage bins filled to the brim with crafting supplies. With no plan or method, I survey the area, shotgun a Diet Coke, and cheers to what I assumed would be a rather interesting evening.
5:14pm- Organization is key in stressful situations, so I begin by pulling out every paint tube to arrange them in rainbow order. I then follow suit with the glitter, ribbon, brushes, scissors, etc…
6:03pm- Realizing I have yet to do any real work, I start to vigorously paint anything, and everything, around me — picture frames, wine glasses, jewelry boxes. My memory is foggy, but I may have painted a trophy from the mantle.
8:21pm- [This part has been debated for years, but I swear this is how it happened.] I crack open a gallon bottle of mod podge and pour it out into a painter’s tray. I then take a paint roller and begin to coat the entire room. Next, I drape everything with Lilly prints until the whole room resembles a group of girls at Derby Days.
9:59pm- I open a tube of glitter and smell it like it’s the first cup of coffee in the morning. I then proceed to dump each container of glitter out into a pile, then sprinkle it all around me as if I am feeding birds in a Disney cartoon. I repeat this to assure I have an even, obnoxious layer of glitter all over every single item in the room.
11:32pm- Once the glitter settles, I realize I have been sitting on a small cooler for the last three hours and have yet to begin working on it. I’m not sure if there is a land speed record for sanding, but someone should have called Guinness, because I know I set it that night. Halfway through painting the sides, I go onto Pinterest to look for ideas and end up organizing all of my pins into alphabetical order.
1:29am- One of my pledge sisters peeks her head into the room to see how I’m doing. I present my partially completed items. She looks at me in my hot-mess state and refers to me as the Miley Cyrus of crafting. It’s hard to determine whether or not this is a joke, and more importantly, whether or not it’s a compliment, but we ultimately end up listening to “Party in the USA” on repeat in order to recreate our first formal.
3:04am- Everything slowly goes downhill from here. I begin the gruesome task of monogramming, stenciling, and detailing every single item. As I paint, I can feel myself working with the ease and elegance of Monet. Realistically, I look like I just bonged a pot of coffee and was asked to play Operation. I swirled delicate lines, composed cliche sorority sayings, and meticulously polka dotted what felt like three dozen wine glasses until my eyes became semi-permanently crossed.
7:28am- *Content lost due to slight memory loss*
8:24am- Jealousy kicks in, and I start to pocket the items that I think are particularly well done. I hold out a freshly painted flask to admire my work and think to myself, Yeah, I would hide this better at a formal than my little would. I scan the room for onlookers and when the coast is clear, I place it slowly into my purse.
10:14am- My eyes shoot open as I try to orient myself. How long have I been sleeping? Is there a hot glue gun stuck in my hair? I throw on the nearest shack shirt and beeline it to the closest Starbucks where I order a quad-shot-anything and ask the barista to pour my drink directly into my mouth to save time.
10:45am- I arrive back at the house with just enough time to feverishly wrap my gifts and make myself look the least shambly possible, but still end up looking like an extra from an early-2000s Britney Spears music video.
11:55am- I arrive just in time for reveal and join my sisters in the living room of the house. I try to act cool in my still-hazy state. I lock eyes with my big from across the room and I know that I’m caught. She looks me up and down, shakes her head, and mouths “What the fuck happened to you?” I drop my head in shame and realize that my shirt is on inside out. The cherry on top of my crazy, 19-hour, crafting catastrophe.