After shitting on your recruitment chair for being Satan in the flesh over the past few weeks, you realize the horror of recruitment ends tonight. You survived another year of encountering endless numbers of awkward freshmen, who were desperately searching to find their place in Greek life. But finally, all of your hard work has paid off and this will be the last night (until Thursday at the bars) that you will wear heels. Yet still, you announce that if you have to wear a pair of pumps again, you will lose your mind.
As soon as you are bombarded with crazed new members looking for lifelong happiness and friendship, you scan the babies for your rush crush on Bid Day. Your heart speeds up as you walk around the screeching new members to search for the PNM who completely and utterly stole your heart during the incredibly long and painful days of recruitment. That girl could be your little. No, your little would kill you if you took another–so you would force your little to take her. Regardless, the possibilities are endless for her to be in your family, and if a rival house scooped her up, you would have no other choice but to watch re-runs of “Grey’s” and online shop for puppies. Anything to make you feel like the basic bitch you are.
Hours (really, minutes) pass and you begin to lose all hope in humanity as you make your way over to the refreshment table. You debate on skipping the drinks all together and going straight to the cookies. As you pour yourself the biggest cup of Diet Coke, you look up. Your eyes fill with tears–there she is. Your throw back all of that soda like a race to win flip cup and you bolt toward her, but not too eagerly (you should at least try to play it cool). The closer you get, the less you can hold it back. Finally, only feet away, your scream escapes your body, even surprising you: “AHHHH OH MY GAWD MY LITTLE BABY!!! WELCOME TO OUR HOUSE!”
At this point, your closest sisters hear your exclamation, recognize this girl from Facebook stalking her the night before, and run over. They introduce themselves, give her their numbers, and immediately follow her on Twitter. They’re overwhelming, but it doesn’t matter, because your rush crush picked YOUR house. The recruitment gods didn’t do you dirty this year.