My smart, best-friend cajoled me into leaving my kids with her on Saturday rather than taking them to my graduation. After sitting in rows of black-caped graduates for FOUR hours, I believe that was the right decision. I was number 684. SIX-HUNDRED and EIGHTY-FOUR--just in case you didn't understand the number. Grad students went last, so there were, you know, 600+ undergrads before they even got to me. Thank God for cell phones. I was horribly bad, and from the graduation floor, called my brother (to tell him to secretly deliver me a sandwich) and then called my sister in New York.
Let's see...the fun parts of the day:
*Proving to myself, once again, that I have literally NO sense of direction, as I steered my car towards Victoria, Texas, when I was supposed to be going downtown.
*Finding out that I had a Bachelor's hood, rather than a Master's hood. I kicked someone's ass in the bathroom, and stole her hood. There was some screaming and clawing, but she gave in pretty easily. Nah, I just walked up to the table and said, "Excuse me? I think this is the wrong hood," and they gave me the right one. Nice people.
*Standing up for an hour in heels. SO pleasant.
*Slipping in the hallway while walking out to the auditorium, on a huge soap-spill. Because you know, there are ALWAYS random soap puddles in the hallway--I should just learn to watch out for them.
*Not eating lunch, therefore, going from 1030am to 6pm with NO FOOD. By the time I got to walk across the stage, I was nearly delirious with hunger. When the president handed me my diploma cover, I nearly (a) bit his arm and (b) threatened, "There better be a fucking sandwich in there!"
The best part? Seeing how proud my parents were. I wouldn't have even gone through all the pomp and circumstance for myself, but that moment was purely for my parents.