Sorority Sisters Read Online Free PDF

back to me . . . No money for school and no grades to get a scholarship. Dad was very helpful about the whole thing, suggesting ROTC the way he did. He also made it clear that they didn’t take just anybody, and maybe, with a good word from him thrown in, I might make the cut.
    Gee, thanks, Dad.
    So here I am, ROTC all the way. Go, navy. Hoo-ah.
    It is a great way to meet guys—I’ll say that for it—not that I have a problem meeting guys.
    Hoo-ah.
    Joining a sorority is supposed to be the antidote for ROTC. That’s Mom’s theory, not that she put it in those exact words. No, her words were more like, “Diane, certain sorts of people join the military and certain sorts join sororities. It’s good to be able to mix well with all sorts.” She took a healthy swallow of a bourbon and water somewhere in her declaration, though I can’t remember exactly where. But she took it, believe me.
    My mom was in a sorority in college and my mom, after a few drinks, likes to talk about those days. She makes it sound great. Lots of parties, fancy dresses, dates with corsages. We’re talking the early 1950s here, in Mississippi, so I’m not sure how well it’s going to translate to LA in the mid-1970s, but she’s confident that I’ll make “lovely friends” and that I’ll “acquire a certain polish.”
    I guess I’m not all that polished right now. Plastered, sure, but not polished.
    That’s what I’m talking about. Mom is death on comments like that. I get the feeling sometimes that she doesn’t think Dad being in the navy has been good for me, that he might be, by accident, polishing me in all the wrong ways. But, Mom being Mom, she never actually says that. She says other stuff, like how being in a sorority will be good for me and “stand me in good stead.”
    How’re they paying for this, ULA being so expensive and Dad being your average, above-average navy pilot? I mean, he has a lot of ribbons and shit, but still, ULA sorority costs are way beyond his salary. Mom’s parents are paying for it—that’s how. Mom, and her mother before her . . . They really believe in the whole sorority drill. Hell, they made it sound great, one party after another, guys with corsages, a pajama party every night. What’s not to love?
    So here I am at a required sorority-fraternity exchange, surrounded by guys. Who says war is hell?
    â€œHey, do you need all these guys or can you pass a few around as hors d’oeuvres?” Missy asks me.
    â€œI can spare a few. How many do you want?” I say.
    â€œTwo or three dozen ought to do it,” Missy says.
    â€œTake an even fifty. They’re free.”
    Missy laughs and eyes me approvingly. I know what that look means. She was wondering if I was stuck-up, and now she’s figuring out I’m not. I’ve been run through this same girly gauntlet since my senior year of high school, when I finally, thank God, “blossomed.” That’s Mom’s word for it, not mine.
    The guys in question, all three of them, can’t hear what we’re saying since Three Dog Night is blaring on the stereo and Missy has her mouth next to my ear. That, and I’ve got my beer cup up against my mouth.
    â€œYou don’t want even one for yourself?” she asks.
    â€œThey’re all yours.”
    Guys are great; I love them. They’re adorable, fun to play with, and they hardly ever break, but I’m not interested in having some guy carry me through life, or even through a fraternity exchange. The navy is my chance at a no-holds-barred career, with no limit to how high I can go. “Diane, there’s no limit to what you can do,” Dad said. I believe him. I’m not going to let some guy screw that up, even the one guy who tempts me to screw that up. Midshipman Temptation is not a Rho Delt, so I can relax and let the good times