The Confiscator
Purim 5760

I Asked you not to drop the Student Soap Bar

So here I am again. A whole year later and still not one date. After my column in last year's Purim issue, I thought I might actually get a sympathy call. Absolutely nothing. Here I am, the very very good YU boy, about to graduate and no arm candy for senior dinner.

It seemed so easy at the beginning of the year. I decided to take the big plunge and go on the orientation cruise to maybe pick up a cute Freshie chick. What children! It's like I don't know that generation. My friends told me about the cute fifth year gal who was a sure thing, but I reminded them that I was still frum, even though I stopped going to shiur two years ago. The three to three sleep cycle has got me beat.

The Chanukah concert was a big investment for me. I actually found both cute Stern girls who weren't engaged yet (well, one had a broken engagement but no one is supposed to know that except her aunt who told me so because I checked her out real good). After a very nice conversation, I was about to suggest a date, when she jumped up and ran back to her seat in heated excitement as Shloime Dachs began to sing "that song!" I believe it was called "Hagalach Hamoel Osee." Whatever.

On to the event of the year, the shidduchfest of the new millennium, the doozy of all singles events, where frum guy and the aidle maidle can converge without the slightest pretense - the SOY seforim Sale. It was really confusing this year. Last year, chick night was changed from Thursday to Wednesday because the really good girls decided that Chas V'shalom anyone should think they came for anything besides seforim if they came on Thursday so they came on Wednesday. That really confused me this year when Tuesday suddenly became chick night. I was about to pick up the last copy of that yellow shidduch guide (I had dashed across the room, jumped a table and decked some poor pathetic mother in my successful attempt to get to the last one), when I notice the new sequel to the timeless classic, "Finding your Bashert." What a dumb book.

So here I sit, on my soap bar on another lonely Purim, on my way to graduate, and no one upon which to bestow my MRS. Degree and a beautiful ring of cubic zirconium, you know they really are just like diamonds. YU really sucks.

IDENTITY CRISIS