Dear “Sylly” Week Shenanigans,

To quote the great Michael G. Scott, “Do you think that doing alcohol is cool?”

But really — it’s a Monday, and there’s roughly thirty of you rowdy rapscallions shouting at each other outside my home. I can hear you word for word, and let me tell you, if Jenna is already lying down in the grass, before she even hits campus, she probably isn’t going to make it to The Boot tonight.

To reiterate: it is a Monday. It might not be the actual Lord’s day, but also, isn’t it close enough?

Classes began this very morning at our Elite Academic Institution, and here you are, drinking the devil’s water while some guys from the floor below you try to justify why they’re still R. Kelly fans — “Sorry, but ‘Ignition (Remix)’ is just such a banger.” What would your mother say?

I’m not even mad. I’m just baffled. The thought, the idea, the mere wisp of the notion that people might be leaving the comfort of their homes to engage in some kind of shenanigans tonight never even crossed my mind. Maybe I’m just washed up, but it was truly a shock to me when the Snapchat stories started pouring in. Shot glasses? Crown Russe? In this economy?

And for the love of God, did every. Single. Snapchat story. Have to be captioned “sylly week?” I know that, at one point, that pun might have been even the littlest bit clever, but at this point, it’s just upsetting. You aren’t “getting sylly.” Your friends aren’t “sylly gurlz.” And nobody in the world cares if it’s your “last sylly.” Maybe if you spent more time in class and less having fun you would have the vocabulary to coin a more creative Instagram caption.

You know, I’m not strictly saying this for my benefit — though, again, I could do without the symphony of voices shouting the lyrics to “thank u, next” off-pitch outside my window. No, I’m looking out for you here. I know you’re hobbling in the Jeffrey Campbell booties you bought for recruitment because your best friend threatened to leave you behind if you took off your shoes en route to Bruno’s. Plus, if you’re too hungover to make it to class on time, that loud frat boy is going to take your unofficial assigned seat in your Business Law class.

I’m praying for you, young Jedi. But, also, I’d really love if it you would shut up. Some of us are trying to get our eight hours.

With love,

Seriously Washed Up