OP-ED Love, factually

Author: Cailin Ross

February 14, 2009. I sit with a couple of single girlfriends at the Grille at 2:00 a.m. double-fisting chicken tenders and laughing about the absurdity of such a commercial holiday and its chubby toddler mascot. Clearly our society created Valentine's Day to make a bunch of money off cute couples and pathetic wannabe couples, awkwardly sipping champagne out of pink-tinted flutes and toasting to hopeful futures together. We laugh, glad to be free of the lacy hearts and delicate roses. Chocolate makes you fat, and who can afford diamonds during such an economic crisis? (If they're not real, spare me the cubic zirconia). We smile, but we're honestly thinking, "Another year and no bouquet? Not one rose dropped outside my room or a box of chocolates waiting on my desk? Will anybody ever fall in love with me?"

I came to college fueled with 18 years of chick flicks and Nicholas Sparks' novels. These sources insisted that the next time I drop my books, my future husband will be the one to help me pick them up. They had me convinced that my lab partner would surely be taken by my beauty and wit, and that the guy I accidentally spill my orange juice on at breakfast is secretly the prince of a small European country. This prince, naturally, can't resist the charming way in which I dab OJ off the front of his shirt. We fall in love. I help rule his country. But here we are in second semester, and I've dropped my books and spilled beverages across Ross dining hall with as much charm as possible, and still, the only chemistry in the lab is that between carbon and oxygen. I am convinced that I am not the problem (my mom thinks I'm beautiful, after all), and I've seen many a smart, attractive, Middlebury student listed as "single" on Facebook. So what is it? I can only say, from my one semester here, that it is this campus. Our lovely, New England, liberal arts Middlebury is anti-dating, and frankly, that ticks me off.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not asking for a steady boyfriend. I'm not asking you to meet my parents. I don't need expensive gifts on major holidays (although I will accept them). I would just like a simple, "Are you free this weekend?" to which I would reply, especially if you have nice bone structure, "Why, yes, I am." It doesn't even have to be a nice place that you take me. If you let me tell people otherwise, I'll accompany you to McDonald's. Partying with 700 drunk and lusty college students gets old. Pretending to be Shakira at the Bunker is only fun for so many Fridays (actually, that's not true, but for argument's sake, let's say it is). It would be nice to put on my prettiest flats knowing that nobody is going to throw up all over them by the end of the night.

Sure, there are those who have their significant others, proudly displaying online that they indeed beat Middlebury's "hook-ups only" rule. There are even those who start dating two weeks into freshman year (I think I missed something there, because two weeks into the year I was still deciding which wall to hang my poster on, let alone who to date). But for the most part, we Midd-kids remain unattached, content with trysts you don't write home about.

I know I'm not the first person to address that Middlebury lacks a dating scene. In fact, I was warned of the situation before my arrival. Very few people can claim intimacy besides those fun but romantically-challenged drunken escapades. "Random hook-ups, that's what we do," read a note to one Facebook group. But I was sure that I was an exception. I'd have a boyfriend, or at least a series of dates, by the time winter break rolled around. So, Middlebury men: why haven't I heard from you yet? If you're looking for a date, I'll be the one spilling orange juice down the front of some poor guy's sweater.