Under a Microscope

I now know what happens when Greeks grow up. (No, I don't mean people of Hellenic ancestry - I mean frats and sororities.) And it's not always pretty.

Went to a girls' night tonight, all of the guests but three (myself being one of the three) were in the same sorority when they were in college. It was a very odd situation. First off, I'm just enough older than these girls that we had nothing in common except, of course, with the person who invited me. She was Greek only because her mother felt it was important... and was willing to pay for it. That's not to say she couldn't party - she just chose to do it without throwing herself at anything that moved.

Second, I ended up watching what only can be described as this odd bonding ritual of nicknames and cheek smooches and inside jokes. It's what we always thought the inside of a sorority house must be like after all the boys are ushered out in the morning.

I supposed I would compare the night to a carb-counter smoothie - all the ingredients minus one, watered down and not as bad for you, and leaving a bad taste in your mouth. Imagine - about a dozen sisters gathered to drink and talk, but no hitting on men because they're all taken.

I think I'll keep looking for a better analogy. Until then, I'm proud to have been what a friend called a GDI: G-D Independent!