While many University students are spending their spring breaks escaping the bitter cold that’s dominated Grounds for the last few weeks — electing for exotic destinations like Cabo or San Juan — this spring break, I’ve decided to simply return back home, hoping to beat back some of the “prodigal daughter” allegations I frequently receive from my family.
Although I am not particularly excited to be greeted with the similarly cold weather of my Virginia hometown, I am looking forward to a week to simply relax and reset from the business of these first few months of the spring semester. After picking up a new job, becoming more involved in some of my extracurriculars and taking a bit of a heavier courseload, this break couldn’t come at a better moment in the semester.
Going home for break often brings a slew of horrors — hometown horrors, as I like to refer to them. Included on the list of these is every Walmart trip turning into a high school reunion, bumping into my ex-boyfriend at Starbucks and bedrotting in my childhood bedroom for ungodly amounts of time while my mom vacuums upstairs. Yet, perhaps the scariest phenomenon for me is realizing the call that comes from inside the house — I’m reverting back to my pre-college teenage self…