Teaching preschool taught me so much.

I feel like all I've been doing recently is getting in touch with my inner three-year-old. First the Halloween costume, then the gingerbread men, and now this. Maybe it's because I refuse to half-do anything, but I just can't see how you can really make a knife costume for yourself without looking ridiculous.

So here's what this is all about. Wheaton has its fair share of crazy floor events, and one of them is called roulette. It goes like this: your roommate finds you a mystery date (cue big eye-roll), and neither of you knows who the other person is, but you decide on a paired costume (mine was a knife and fork). Everyone finds their person in the lobby of the dorm at a designated time (4:30), and then you do fun things like play games and eat food.

Our roulette was Thanksgiving-themed. Our "game" was a competition where groups of three pairs went out into Wheaton proper to collect the greatest quantity of clothes, nonperishable food, and furniture to donate to various shelters. Some people forgot to inform their roommates' dates that we would be outside, which resulted in our standing on many people's porches like this:

After these festivities, we returned to our floor to compare our loot piles and eat dinner, which my overly ambitious RA made for 60 people. Really, she's crazier than I am. But she pulled it off, baking sweet potatoes and steaming green beans and heating up turkey and rolls and baking pies and serving ice cream. Really. It was super cool (especially because I got to serve as food prep consultant in the days leading up to roulette).

And then we ended the night with watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. After some much-needed clean-up, there was a photo taken (which I know you all scrolled down to see) of my friend Abby (cowgirl), my RA (center), and myself (pretty obvious):

A few notes:

• my costume was too tall for our hallway. Supa.
• in an effort to make all my costumes award-winning, Abby deemed mine the Awesome Roulette Costume 2011. I'd like to thank Tallowood Preschool's Penguin Room for giving me the skills to make my knife.
• about my fork counterpart: I'd never met him before in my life; his fork showed a little promise, but he did not. He left before Charlie Brown because he "had a paper to write." Um, sir, I have a paper to write and practicing to do, and I've spent my last two afternoons making a cardboard knife. No excuses.