You clean your room only when friends visit.
YOU CLEAN YOUR ROOM ONLY WHEN FRIENDS VISIT.
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Remember those days? The stacks of textbooks threatening to topple, the coffee cups multiplying like rabbits, and a vague, lingering aroma that was uniquely "dorm room." We were chasing knowledge, late-night epiphanies, and perhaps a decent GPA. Who had time for a pristine living space? Your room was a battleground of ideas, a sanctuary of sleepless nights, certainly not a showroom.
And then the text would come. "Hey, I’m swinging by in ten." Or, "Bringing some friends over later!" Suddenly, a switch flipped. That Everest of laundry? Tucked neatly into the hamper (or, let’s be honest, shoved under the bed). Those week-old snack wrappers? Vanished into the trash. The floor, previously a minefield, was now… walkable. A quick spritz of air freshener, a strategic pile of books, and voilà! Instant respectability.
It wasn't about impressing anyone, not really. It was about presenting a façade of order amidst the beautiful, brilliant chaos of our lives. It was a shared, unspoken ritual. We understood that beneath the temporary shine, the real work, the real learning, and the real memories were being forged in the beautiful, brilliant mess. It was our unique brand of Ivy League elegance, wasn’t it? A testament to priorities, perhaps. A story for the ages, indeed.
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