Wellslian

That's how I spelled Wesleyan when I was 11, when my older brother toured it.  Since I was the last kid to look at colleges, I'd had 2 previous college road trips under my belt and thought I knew what I wanted.  I really liked Denison when we looked with Burke and was in love with Davidson when I went with Lucas.  When it came time for my own grand college tour, I wanted to go to Dartmouth and Williams.  They both denied me, Williams addressing my rejection letter simply "Dear Nagy,"

Burke ended up going to Haverford.  Pogs were cool at the time.

The breakdown for the Nagy kids was as follows - Burke was the brilliant one, Lucas was the quirky one, I was the dramatic one.  This worked out okay until I turned un-cute around puberty.  Burke was so smart and tutored me through middle school and freshamn year until he had to leave for college.  I credit him with me passing algebra and physics, he wasn't just smart but a really good teacher, but I'm getting off track.  The point is, for some bizarro reason, Burke didn't get in to Wesleyan and I did.  I'm guessing this is because Wes had gotten a reuputation as a school that catered to ugly hippies, and i was a blond white girl from south orange county, which for them counted as diversity.  I got the rejection letter from Dartmouth and the acceptance letter from Wesleyan on the same day, which I decided was a sign.

I was depressed and hated OC, and so pictured myself living it up at Wesleyan, attending political rallies and falling in love with a skinny poet from Vermont.  It didn't work out that way.  But Wes served it's purpose.  I didn't know it was possible to feel nostalgic for depression, but it is.