Many full moons ago
when I was a college coed at the University of Vermont…
preppy was “in.”
The only problem was:
preppy wasn’t "in"
my vocabulary.
Maybe there were a few preppy Vermonters
back in the day,
but my eyes
had never
laid eyes on one.
I didn’t know the slightest thing about dressing preppy.
When I showed up
at groovy UVM,
my wardrobe was
short on:
pink and green,
alligator shirts,
ribbon belts,
khaki pants,
and Bermuda bags
but
long on:
bell bottoms,
flannels,
and wide embossed leather belts.
My freshman roommate
was the most prepped out human I had ever met.
She put the P's in preppy.
A triple P threat.
She was also a debutante from NYC
who had a "coming-out party"
to announce her debutante status to society.
I had never heard of a “debutante,” let alone
rub leather patch elbows with one.
The closest I would ever come to debutante is…
writing it.
(Thank you spellchecker.)
Ms. Prep was a formidable leader in the
UVM Preppy Invasion
and
she made it her mission
to make me into her preppy clone...
one Lacoste at a time.
I must have had a sign
on my back that said,
“Prep Me.”
In one effort to prepify me...
she bought me a
pink Brooks Brothers
buttoned-down long-sleeve shirt
with my initials “KAT” monogrammed on the pocket.
(I must admit...
I was a willing recipient.)
Anywhoooooo......
I was never quite sure what attracted
Preppy flatlanders
to go to school in Vermont.
Was it
the scenery?
the slopes?
or
the sea
of bars?
Or
maybe it was a secret desire to
change Vermonsters
into
Prepsters
and
one by one…
change the Vermont landscape
into a field of pink and green...
crawling with 'dem gators.
