Three Springs Down, One (Ring) to Go

When chatting with my advisor earlier this week about my schedule for the fall

semester, I did something I have never before done as a Notre Dame student: I

turned in a list of classes that included only my first choices.

 

After semesters of muddling through dozens of over-filled classes and enough

backup schedules to make even the bionic Schedulizer.com confused, I have finally

reached a point where I feel confident in my ability to get into every class that I

need. This time around, not only do I have a decent first-day DART time; I have a

decent first-day DART time among seniors. For, starting with the upcoming fall

semester, I am a senior.

 

Wait. A senior. In the immortal words of Harry Potter, “I’m a what?”

 

Though this news does great things for my schedule, it also brings terror. If I’m

almost a senior, that means I’m almost an adult. I’m only months away from leaving

Notre Dame, looking for real jobs, living without a meal plan, and being set loose

from the comforting constraints of parietals.

 

If I’m only weeks away from being a senior, I’m only a few months from graduating

without a Ring by Spring.

 

At this point, my chances of finding a husband by graduation look about as

promising as Amanda Bynes’ career. I have no boyfriend, no potential boyfriend,

and clearly, no hope. After all, what is my life even worth if I’m not on track to have

South Dining Hall booked solid for my wedding reception during Memorial Day

weekend of my grad year?

 

From here on out, then, things have got to change. I have one priority and one

priority only for the rest of my days at ND: finding Mr. Right.

 

Think you’ll find me in my boring ol’ English and American Studies classes next

year? Nope. The few guys brave enough to enroll in those chick-fest majors are

probably the same kind who would want to do something stupid like volunteer or

travel after graduation and put off marriage until their late twenties or early thirties.

Like I’d want to marry a dirty hippie like that!

 

Nay, next year, it’s time for this MRS student to finally follow in the footsteps of a

truly abnormal number of her friends and declare a theology major. Those guys

know the value or prayer in a relationship – perfect for my needs for a grotto

proposal – and, if they leave you, it’s far more likely to be for the seminary than for

another girl. If I’m gonna be spurned, it might as well be by Jesus, you know?

 

When not in active husband-seeking mode in my theo classes next year, I will be

found doing the only other appropriate thing: planning the Notre Dame wedding

that I will so quickly be having. After all, there’s a lot to do in this vein. I’ll have to

start brush up on my memorization of the Seven Steps to Marriage as laid out on the

basilica’s website, polish my Pinterest wedding board into perfection, and, of course,

start looking for that strategically jaw-dropping yet modest dress.

 

And if my plans don’t work?

 

If I don’t have a husband lined up by the end of fall semester, I acknowledge that I

am in a bit of trouble. Should that terrible moment come, I won’t be hard to find. If

I don’t get my ring by spring, I’ll be indulging in the next best alternative: a steady

stream of Ben & Jerry’s, consumed among sweatpants and tears in my seniority-

earned single room. So happy hunting, everyone – and let the senior year games

begin.