It is written in the contrails of airplanes slicing through the sky. It is written in the frown lines on your professor’s forehead when you ask a stupid question (yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question). It is written in jacuzzi bubbles rising to the water’s surface, breaking, releasing their hot air. Chris Raffa. Chris. Raf. Fa. Three perfect syllables. One perfect man. I’m here to wipe his record clean. He DOES think women are funny. It turns out he thinks I, specifically, am not funny. Fair point Raffa. How was your weekend?
“Terrible now that you brought me up again in a Catchup.”
“Chris it’s only because I want your attention.”
“I won’t give it to you.”
Here’s the full story. I wrote this Catchup for last week, but it mysteriously disappeared. Some funny details were lost in recreating this post. We can thank karma or Chris for manipulating my content.
What: Honors Day
- Somehow my name has, for the fourth year in a row, slipped by the minds of the faculty. Maybe it’s because I’m not good enough at Biology or English, stretched too thin. Maybe it’s because departments play favorites. (Biology majors you know who I’m talking about). Maybe it’s because I’m a negative person. (I’d like to think otherwise). Maybe it’s because I’m dumb. Professor, is it because I am dumb?
- That’s a stupid question, Mia.
- Professor you have something on your face.
- I think it says “Chris Raffa”
When: Tuesday, April 9 at 10:45am
Where: Lady Rosse (I love that evil looking dog in her portrait)