Pres Girl Cleans Her Closet

Dusty Hill, Reporter

It’s Friday night. I am vegetating on the couch after an extensive and exhausting week of procrastination. I suddenly feel an overwhelming wave of guilt crash over my lifeless body. Why am I so lazy? Why am I still in my plaid skirt? Why is the How Bout Dah girl still appearing in memes? Is she really getting a reality show? Will the Kardashians finally have competition? Is Kendall Jenner going to bring about world peace? Does she even drink Pepsi?

I sound like Jaden Smith. I silence my mind. I remember that I’ve been lying in this same spot for four hours. To alleviate the guilt of my prolonged lounging, I arise from the couch in search of a task I can complete. I want a challenge. After an extensive bout of soul-searching, the vocation of my night reveals itself to me. It’s time to face the beast. It is time to clean my closet.

I slowly approach my closet doors in crippling fear. I begin to perspire. I can’t remember if I applied enough deodorant this morning for such a stressful task. My shaking hand meets the cold knob of the door. Slowly I reveal the mess I have created, the monster that my laziness has birthed. I am horrified at the vision in front of me. Where did I go wrong?

I take a deep breath. I proceed. The things I find buried within in the depths of this great abyss both scare me and fascinate me. As I sort through this mess, I compose myself. It’s going to be alright, breathe in, breathe out, I repeat to myself. I begin to find myself reminiscing on my journey at Pres and the mark it has left on my closet over the last four years. These artifacts are truly the hallmark of a Presentation senior who’s tried it all. I can feel plaid running through my veins as I uncover:

  • An unopened package of Costco white socks – abandoned when I gave up on the sock policy two years ago
  • A cooking club shirt – a reminder of valuable life lessons I learned; for example, the delicate art of mixing hot cocoa powder into steaming water
  • An embarrassing amount of Minion shirts – exclusively from the Target children’s section
  • Black jazz shoes – reminiscent of a time when I believed I could land a spot on the Nationally-acclaimed dance team with no dance experience
  • Adidas Slides that I drag my feet in on my way to Calculus
  • The uniform of the golf team – a sport I quickly abandoned when I remembered that I was not a 70-year-old retired man
  • A pair of pre-Presentation jeans – hanging in my closet as a sullen reminder of the Freshman 15 that will never quite go away
  • A blanket that got banned from campus circa 2015
  • A yellow sparkly boa — the painful reminder that I danced (read: embarrassed) myself in front of the entire school during a Mag Drive rally, clad in a feathery shawl of shame
  • Slippers that I continue to illegally wear – and sprint in when I see Buell/Ursin/Schrader  
  • A hair ball
  • A “Presentation Supports Fair Trade” shirt that I specifically wear to Social Justice class (clarification: not sucking up, just advantageously dressing)


I am a Pres girl. Plaid is the print of my life. Cookies and bread are the cornerstones of my dreams. My ringtone sings the alma mater. But after tonight, I am finally an organized Pres girl, one who now bleeds a tidy stream of blue and gold.