From the start it felt unusual, a guy living in the girls' dorm. You had seen me moving in on the first day, lifting heavy-looking boxes up the stairs and stacking my belongings outside the door, but you assumed it was a simple misunderstanding. You wondered if you would tell me that you'll need to move all of that stuff back out again? You assumed the floor's RA would figure it out and smooth things over. And yet, she didn't. Despite her initial concern and promises to look into it, her commitment seemed to evaporate just a day or two into term - the same day that her panties appeared nailed to my door.

The rest of the floor was shocked. Not only did it seem like I would be staying, but the panties stapled to my door were an insult to the whole building. It was "downright outrageous", "very chauvinist", and "so toxic". Over the following weeks, a few of the other girls had tried to say something. First Sally, who'd knocked on my door with a concerned frown and a furrowed brow. A week later it was Allie, hammering the door after she'd been kept awake all night by my music. Then Emily, who'd bumped into me in the laundry room. When they'd re-emerged a day or two later, they were all changed - their concern, anger and frustration all melted into blissful, happy little walks. And more panties on my door.

Enough is enough. Who the hell does he think he is!?