Someone landed at Rachelskirts.com via the following search: "where can I buy a white tiger as a pet?"

If I only knew, dear friend . . .

Sigh.

I like simple meals. My dinner tonight consists of a piece of bread, two slices of American cheese, and a glass of milk. Lunch was a helping of tuna spread across some crackers, also served with milk. A bagel hastily shoved down my gullet on the drive to school this morning had to suffice as breakfast.

This unrefined palette lends itself well to one of several careers: professional bachelor, professional college student, or professional five-year-old. I have high hopes for that last one.

Of course, I have really been embracing my destiny as a cat lady as of late, which would seemingly be in direct conflict with a career as a youngster. However, as I was desperately trying to take my mind off of the nearby mosquito whilst showering this morning, I was struck with the odd realization that I have no idea what a cat lady's diet looks like. I would imagine that she would fix dainty foods, the kind usually reserved for a fancy tea or a Thumbelina-themed birthday party. She would eat alone in her formal dining room, ten or so plump kittens snoring at her feet, as she slowly picked the foods from her plate. The dishes would be her finest china, the type that can neither be microwaved nor put in the dishwasher, adding the menial task of hand-washing dishes to the to-do list she would keep pinned to the refrigerator next to the cat-a-day calendar and a Christmas card from 1997.

Then again, this is all just speculation.

My microeconomics teacher seems to have two personae. The first dresses in one of six Hawaiian shirts paired with khaki cargo shorts and Adidas sandals. His hair is slightly rumpled, and he compensates for his casual look by demanding even more from the students. I don't have any statistics to back me up on this, but I'm guessing all of our pop quizzes have been given on Casual Ken days. Formal Ken, on the other hand, wears a snug polo shirt tucked in to Dockers, the pants hitting just the right place on his brown Oxford shoes. He seems to feel free to tell longer stories and better jokes on these days. His hair is combed into straight lines across his head.

Either way, he is one of the most intimidating professors on campus, his name whispered in fear as if he is Voldemort. I think he is absolutely fascinating. I hope he'll teach me how to make people cower like that some day. Let's just pray the Hawaiian shirts are optional.