getting an MRS degree

I received this email today from Jill, a writer at the Columbia Spectator's weekend magazine The Eye:

"...I was hoping that you might be interested in helping me out with a cover story that I'm writing for an upcoming issue. The story is all about women at Columbia who say that one of their goals in attending the school is to find a soon-to-be rich and successful husband, and one of the other students I interviewed mentioned that you might have some thoughts on the topic. I was hoping that you might be willing to sit down and talk to me..."

Um, okay.

First of all, who is this interviewee? COME FORTH, ANONYMOUS INTERVIEWEE, AND MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN. Second, just because Ma and Pa Remes met freshman year of collge does not mean that I have an agenda. Third, my inner housewife (alright, the secret's pretty much out on my housewifeyness, but still) isn't yearning for a man to bring home the bacon. Fourth... fourth, are there women out there who aim to find a "soon-to-be-rich and successful husband" while in college? If there are, that's sad.

I'm reminded of a t-shirt that my premed flatmate Alyssa has; it says, "Be the doctor your parents want you to marry."

It's 2007, girls. Wake up and smell the Guatemalan coffee you bought at the overpriced gourmet down the street from your $bajillion/month apartment on West 85th Street, put on your stockings and mascara, and go to the high-profile job you earned.