The Legend of Stillman

There is a legend among us.

The Legend of Stillman.

Stillman was a fresh-faced young first-year adopted by Jezebel at the beginning of our junior year. Stillman had curly red hair. Stillman wanted to join the Israeli army. Stillman played Ultimate Frisbee and wore a lot of plaid. Stillman looked kind of like a 15-year-old grunge rock enthusiast.

Stillman also got more ass than the three of my housemates (and myself) combined.

This was a mystery to us. We were four eligible young ladies of various sexual persuasions. We were smart. We dressed well. We took care of our personal grooming. We were, I daresay, reasonably attractive. So why was this one crazy freshman so much more successful than us?

One evening, we finally asked Stillman what her secret was. She shrugged and said: "Well, basically, you go to a party, drink some beer, and start asking every single person if they want to have sex with you."

We blinked. We looked at each other. Then we shrugged too. It made sense.

So Stillman played a numbers game, but none of us were sure that her method was one we wanted to employ. We merely marveled at her prowess and enjoyed watching her in action. My single best Stillman story is the night that she had a threesome with two other girls (one supposedly straight) on our living room chair. This was in the middle of a busy party, and yes, there are pictures on Facebook that we didn't take ourselves. Thankfully they eventually moved it to the bathroom. There are football players out there who remember our apartment as "the lesbian house," which we think is kind of unfair.

Stillman eventually transferred to U of W - Madison, and I'm sure that she has banged every women's rugby player on campus by now. But all of that is neither here nor there. The point is: before Stillman left, she passed on a tiny silver pinkie ring to Jezebel. I was pining ineffectually after a certain bespectacled young man at the time, and Jezebel took pity on me. She passed the ring onto me.

We looked on Stillman's Ring as a magical object, an object infused with her unstoppable mojo. Surely, by wearing it, it would pass some of her glory onto us.

To make a long story short, I did not win the love (or lust) of the bespectacled young man. The ring stayed in my jewelry box for the next year or so, but Jezebel would always tell me to wear Stillman's Ring to one party or another. Finally, I crooked my beringed little finger at a tall young man, and he walked me home. And took me out for dinner. And eventually took off my clothes. The relationship lasted a little over a year.

Jezebel, of course, saw this as proof of the ring's magic. I was a little skeptical. Why did it take a year to go into effect?

I broke up with my tall young man on a lovely spring day (this is a story for another time). 36 hours later, I met someone else. I didn't know he would be Someone Else at the time, but a little over a month later, he too was taking me out for dinner. That was in May. Now he wants to take me home for Christmas.

Jezebel decided that enough was enough. "Give me back Stillman's Ring!" she told me. "You've had your share. I need it now."

She came down to DC for a business function and we made the trade in the middle of a conference center. I smiled as I gave it to her, feeling decidedly unprofessional. We hugged, and she left for New York again. I wished her the best.

(No, my current young man did not break up with me the next day. Stillman's Ring giveth and does not taketh away.)

I'm writing this history because approximately 30 minutes ago, Jezebel sent me an angry text: "You broke the Stillman Ring and I may never forgive you..."

I reminded her that the ring takes a full year to adapt to its new owner and starting working its magical. She was not happy to hear this.

Jezebel: Believe. And may the Stillman be with you.