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I’d met the RA’s, I’d met some of the people on my floor — everyone seemed nice and enthusiastic. They were going to be my safety net. But if they were as nervous as I was, they didn’t show it.

A few hours later, I was decked out in a toga in the middle of a dance floor, surrounded by drunken frat bros and teenagers making out. For my sheltered 17-year-old self, it was quite the escalation.

Let’s face it, everyone has to leave the house in something, provided they want to keep a roof over their head and all of their toes. There’s no way around it, you have to at least wear shoes and pants — maybe a t-shirt for picture day.

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