You can’t craft. Like at all. Like you considered giving your little a gift card to Michael’s with a note saying “make it yourself.”
You think glitter is the most annoying substance on planet Earth. Why would you want something in your life that leaves evidence of the night before for days? It’s like a hickey, but not as fun to get.
Sometimes, you wear pants.
You think monograms are beyond tacky, and no matter how many times people explain it to you, you don’t understand why the initials aren’t in order.
You wouldn’t be caught dead in Lilly Pulitzer, because you think it looks like a clown banged a grandmother and their demon child threw up on a dress that covers way too much of your skin.
You don’t do laundry until you run out of underwear. And even then, sometimes you’d rather just buy new ones.
What does your bedroom floor even look like? You haven’t seen it in months.
You barely know how to use the microwave, let alone the oven.
You haven’t called your father “Daddy” since before your first menses.
You have no interest in trying to class up your alcoholism with wine. You’d prefer to cut the shit and stick with hard liquor, always, as it’s the fastest path to obliteration.
The only reason you “can’t even,” is because even is not a verb.
Your brow game is just average.
Starbs is not your favorite coffee shop. You just can’t justify spend five dollars so your cup looks cute with your outfit.
You cringed when you just read the abbreviation, “Starbs.”
You get embarrassed when someone makes you take a fake laughing picture.
Emojis are the worst. Like you don’t even have an emoji keyboard. You will be DAMNED if you need a “giggling monkey” to tell your friends something was funny.
Also, that monkey means “speak no evil.” Idiots.
You can’t take ritual seriously.
I know this is supposed to be sacred and all, but Amanda is currently wearing a robe and using some combination of Latin and Old English to talk about “values,” and I’m just supposed to forget that I saw her vagina at the bar last night? Unlikely.
Not only do you skip service hours, but you’re not even entirely sure what your philanthropy is.
You’ve never held an officer position and you never intend to.
You can’t decide what’s more stupid: flower headbands or giant bows on adults.
Just kidding. Tutus. Tutus are the most stupid.
Sometimes, when you’re home, you drink in letters just to feel like a badass.
You have absolutely no problem with gluten.
In fact, bring on the fucking gluten. We should be eating more gluten. Gluten for everyone!
You do not give a damn that SAE had an illegal mixer with that sorority you always forget about.
Recruitment is your nightmare. You don’t even like being nice to your friends. Now you have to be nice to strangers? Pass.
You don’t ask your friends to text you when you get home, because WHY DO PEOPLE ASK THAT. NO ONE EVER TEXTS WHEN THEY GET HOME.
Your only contribution to Greek Week is drinking enough to make sure everyone knows your sorority is a good time.
J. Crew. Why do you exist. Why do people my age shop at J. Crew. Kill me when my wardrobe matches my mother’s.
You generally make it a rule to skip as many meetings and events as possible without getting kicked out of your sorority.
You don’t know everyone’s name and you certainly don’t know everyone’s family.
You live with people who aren’t your sisters.
And you don’t actually call them “sisters.” You call them “girls in my sorority.”
You can’t name all of your founders. Can you even name one?
You’re not even sure if you know the whole Greek alphabet, and you sure as shit don’t know the song.
You do, however, know your sorority’s secret dirty songs by heart, and you have no qualms about drunkenly sing-screaming them on the busride to off-campus events.
You feel no shame in your sexcapades, as you are generally the one to kick him out once you’re done with him.
You think cuddling is the worst.
Anyone who volunteers to be a sober sister is pretty much dead to you.
You’re not afraid of Standards. Standards is afraid of you.
You don’t feel the need to creepily show everyone pictures of your little to legitimize your relationship with her.
Maybe you don’t even have a little, and somehow, you managed to live.
The thought of having to talk to frat boys sober, let alone having to date one, makes your skin crawl.
You get that it’s about more than partying, but you’re really just here to party.
And while you absolutely hate yourself for it, you absolutely love being Greek..
Veronica (@VeronicaRuckh) is the Director of Total Sorority Move for Grandex, Inc. After having spent her undergraduate years drinking $4 double LITs on a patio and drunk texting away potential suitors, she managed to graduate with an impressive GPA and an unimpressive engagement ring -- so unimpressive, in fact, some might say it's not there at all. Veronica has since been fulfilling her duties as "America's big," a title she gave to herself with the help of her giant ego. She has recently switched from vodka to wine on weekdays. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org