So You're Off to New Haven, eh...

It's here, it's here, it's here!. Yale-Harvard weekend's here!. I've been dreaming about this weekend ver since I could dream. But why did I decide to go with a Yalie? My dorm has disowned me going with a Yale man. And now Leo's ostracized me just cause I said I wouldn't root for Yale at the game. (Harvard HAS to win now.) He said all the other girls, from self-respecting girls' schools, are already over by the piano learning the songs. I said I knew the Crimson cheers, so he left me.

I kept thinking how wonderful it was of Leo to condescend to ask me, a "Harvard" girl, down to that marvelous Yale school! I've heard so much about, it. Leo's father went to Yale, and to hear him talk-about Mory's,and the huge Gothic buildings, and Mory's and the jovial parties at the fraternities and at Mory's, and the great Yale Bowl, and the beer at Mory's-maybe his father wrote, "Shall I Wastin'". If Yale had a girl's school...

I kept holding my breath ever since, Leo went to Yale in September, and I kept praying, I had to go.

Nearly every gal on the floor had a date. Everyone was driving down-with Harvard men, of course. I almost died listening to them bubble about their plans. Sue was cutting classes and going down Friday morning cause hr man captains the Eliot House football team.

A bunch giggled about the frat parties, which started with beer on Friday and evolved to milk punch on Sunday afternoon. Then there is the gay rivalry-and blue and red paint-and the bands-and the street cars, open air ones, Cathy fell off one two years ago, and her date didn't realize it till three blooks later. By that time some Yailed had kidnapped her. She never did see that Harvard man again.

Someone mentioned how cold the game would be. Why go we have to go out, there and freeze, anyhow? Isn't that why they invented television? But nothing can be all good.

Then there are beeg mad cocktail parties after the game where we thaw out-and more parties where we keep thawing.

Everyone was madly trading clothes. You can't wear something your date has seen on such a big weekend Mary hacked off a green formal so that she could have that new-look length. And little Peg borrowed a skirt a size too large so that it would be long enough. Sally asked me if she could borrow my formal which is the kind you can wear without pressing.

When she came in, she was kidding about having just turned down her seventh bid for the weekend. I nearly cried. Now Sally is wise to the idiosyncrasies of men-or so she says, being a high, and mighty pretty senior, and she took me under her wing.

So we sent a letter to Leo saying how Sally had argued that Harvard men were so much nicer on weekends, and I had said no. And it worked. He asked me. And I accepted, even though it WAS only a week before the game.

But the buildings aren't any bigger than those in Cambridge, and I like red brick. And Mory's is smaller and dirtier and darker and more crowded than Jini's or the OG. And anyone can sing "From the tables..." even if they aren't from Yale. And the parties aren't any gayer, and the martinis are just as bad, and the smoke is no bluer.

But I'll be at Yale. And I'm so sad that this is the last football game. They are such a wonderful excuse for all the wonderful parties. I really hope Harvard wing-if only I didn't have to freeze watching the game...