Dinner at the Professor's
I encourage anyone who can't eat pasta this week to stop reading now so you don't get jealous of me.
Tonight I had one of those classic Bryn Mawr experiences that you read about in the prospectus. My major advisor had my 300-level seminar over to his house for dinner and discussion. We arrived and his 4-year-old half-Chinese daughter greeted us in the front yard. Gary led us into his living room and sat us down with fresh bruschetta on the coffee table. His house just screams "Professor of Liberal Arts!": Books on every surface, international kick-knacks, and clutter, clutter, clutter. For dinner we had the choice of spaghetti with pesto or ravioli with vodka sauce; tossed salad with mushrooms and tomato; and fresh pineapple and strawberries. After dinner we sat around his living room having coffee and peach custard and had class. On the walk back, we hit a volleyball around a street and sang pop songs.
The food was divine and company was engaging.
Tonight was good.
Tonight I had one of those classic Bryn Mawr experiences that you read about in the prospectus. My major advisor had my 300-level seminar over to his house for dinner and discussion. We arrived and his 4-year-old half-Chinese daughter greeted us in the front yard. Gary led us into his living room and sat us down with fresh bruschetta on the coffee table. His house just screams "Professor of Liberal Arts!": Books on every surface, international kick-knacks, and clutter, clutter, clutter. For dinner we had the choice of spaghetti with pesto or ravioli with vodka sauce; tossed salad with mushrooms and tomato; and fresh pineapple and strawberries. After dinner we sat around his living room having coffee and peach custard and had class. On the walk back, we hit a volleyball around a street and sang pop songs.
The food was divine and company was engaging.
Tonight was good.