As the V-Day festivities come to an end and the window for excusing a late gift with shipping delays closes, I have taken some time to reflect on the festivities. I took close note of each shameless Insta post, every couple awkwardly tucked in the back of the library and each
disgustingly-public kiss blocking the door to my morning class in Howard. I thusly feel uniquely qualified to write a roadmap of how we (the students formerly known as Pios) celebrated this day of love.
Before I even started paying attention to these mid-winter rituals, I noticed the lesbians. It is impossible not to notice the lesbians. They have been together for 15 non-consecutive weeks after meeting at a queer mixer to which they were both invited by their respective favorite ex (who then introduced them). Two break-ups and an attempted open relationship later, their carabiners are securely hooked together — iykyk. Their matching bixies (bob-pixie, just acknowledge you are uncultured if you do not know this term) have begun to morph the two together. Worse yet, they attend the same psych and theater classes, where they have taken to helping each other raise their hands. Their burgeoning domestic partnership will surely flourish while living together in a Hartzfeld double next year (they will break up hours after paying the housing deposit).
If you dared to look at this pair’s Google Calendar, as I did while they were distracted by pitching why their favorite dinosaur is best, you would find that the scarily
cute color-coordinated calendar has at least 17 different anniversaries marked, such as first eye contact, first hand hold, first time they trauma-bonded over the fact that Natasha Leone is straight, first time making a DIY piece of furniture together and, finally, their first kiss. Their nightly routine consists of staring into one another’s eyes, exchanging telepathic gossip and wishing they could have a threesome with the moon.
Next in my research, I found myself at Griswold, where an mlm ultimate frisbee couple was engaged in a courting ritual shockingly similar to elephant seals fighting. The grunts echoed across the field as the two men puffed up their chests, both flirtatiously and argumentatively trying to explain why their DJ set was better than the other’s, even though they both used the same crossfade Spotify playlist of old Drake songs. The mixed scent of Dr. Bronner’s and Dr. Squatch (another mlm couple — two doctors, one love) hovers around the two.
As the routine comes to an end, they retrieve their Enlighten Mint Yerba Mates and presumably discuss their plans to run a raw, vegan kombucha stand (named Boochus, obviously) out of an old ambulance and drive it to Vermont. These two golden retrievers found each other through a mutual love of thrifted Patagonia, and that is beautiful.
My favorite non-binary throuple is rarely seen out of doors, but when it rains, the three of them can be seen crouched by the wettest tree trunks, identifying species that will become potential names for them at the next full moon — Lichen, Witch’s Butter, Giant Puffball. They share one oversized sweater for warmth, the crafty one of the three having crocheted an extra sleeve to stick out awkwardly from the middle.
When this trio leaves the quad they share with one terrified straight roommate who now sleeps outside of the RA’s room, you can catch them leaving their super cryptic, type-written, free verse love poems around the library, addressed to no one except sometimes their emotionally complex grandfather or very favorite Bio lab professor.
The (sadly) single bisexual women, a group which I myself am aligned with, can be seen fighting internal battles between asking out the most angelic brunette woman you have seen in years, who will genuinely care about your day when she asks about it, and the man who checked out completely when you started talking and looks like he crawled out of a frat’s basement, but has some sort of strange allure. She looks like she would ask me about my dreams and aspirations, he looks like he could pirate any of my favorite TV series but would definitely make fun of me for using Safari.
Is it comphet? No, I think he is actually different. Guys, his shitty mustache is ironic! Each party these bisexuals attend is a hunting ground, every night a new conquest (these bisexual women will never really do anything except for flirt aimlessly, accidentally leading someone on while pretending she cannot see the person she is actually interested in on the other side of the pong table.)
Now there are also straight couples on campus, huddled together like penguins embarrassed of their heterosexuality, whispering sweet nothings over their overdue SOAN essays. She will post the ugliest man you have ever seen, saying “I’m so lucky to have my rock, my Pookie Bear, little Stink, my ray of sunshine” and he will repost the photo of himself, with an added pink heart. Blah blah blah, you all know about these people, read any history website about Valentine’s Day and you will begin to understand their capitalist traditions. You hardly need me for that.
Love comes in many forms, and, in the case of heterosexual women, rarely comes at all! But regardless of if, how or why, I hope it came for you on this Valentine’s Day. Why are we were in college after all if not to find true love, or at least lust. If it did not, especially if you have a brunette wolf cut and some Urban Outfitters tops, call me! It is not too late in the semester to find
The One.
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