This is my final Undergrad year, and as spring approaches, I cut loose: I get drunk 3 times. It's pretty safe because the parties are all on campus and I'm with my possee of girlfriends. The third time is a party thrown for graduating students on the evening of the last day of classes by the college Master, who has an apartment on the ground floor of our dorm. My Mom arrives the next morning to take me home for study week before exams begin. I sleep in, waking minutes before Mom's due to arrive. I grab my wastebasket, which I threw up in during the night, and run to the washroom. When I return after washing it out, Mom's waiting in my room, and it's pretty obvious that I threw up and slept in my clothes. Typical of Mom, she says nothing, and I, embarassed, also say nothing. We both ignore the elephant in the room (a pretty smelly one) as I pack a suitcase and slide into Mom's car.

I have been very happy at York University. Oh, there were boyfriend issues and such - but I lived with a fantastic group of girls, and for the first time, I'm not out of place here, with my penchant for debating and love of reading and passion for literature and philosophy. In fact, I've decided to go for my PhD and become a university professor! But this year, all my friends are graduating - some to go on to teacher's college or other training, some into the work force. I decide to graduate with them, even though I need an Honours degree (4 years, not 3) to go on - but I've been taking extra courses each year, so I only need three credits, and decide to take them individually.

I have a summer job with the Department of National Defense - my second summer with them - writing press releases for their exhibitions and displays events. I sign up for a summer course to get one of my credits.

I take the bus to Ottawa in the break between classes ending and exams beginning, to do the paperwork for the summer job. On the bus ride home, at the half-way point, a young man holds the door open for me. Nice. I'm impressed. When we re-board the bus, which is half-empty, he asks to sit beside me. We talk all the way to Toronto, and he asks me out to dinner.

After dinner, he asks to see me next weekend. Our first date - he is two hours late. He's a journalist, and a story comes in at deadline, and he doesn't think of phoning to let me know. I wait and wait. My girlfriends begin to pity me. "No," I tell them, "He's coming. I'm sure of it." They pity me more. And more. And more. Finally they convince me to get changed back into jeans and go to the college pub with them.

On the way out the door, guess who finally shows up?
Yup, it's Ian. And he is surprised I doubted him. I don't know whether to be relieved or ticked. I settle on both.

Within a month we are engaged to be married.

The date is a year away, because I have already made plans to backpack around Europe with a Eurail pass and a Youth Hostel card for 3 months when my summer job ends. I will leave right after my 22nd birthday (on Sept. 10), and get home in time for Christmas. But that's a story for my next post!

How did you feel leaving college? Were they the "best years of your life" - or the worst?

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