Forget What You've Heard: Here's the Real Way to Find That Perfect Husband in College

Ahhhh, higher education. It sure is empowering how they let us ladies go to college and do our cute little book-reading thing these days. It’s so fun to pretend like people care about our adorable girl-brains! But everyone knows what a college education really means to vagina-havers—it’s a chance to spend our best years telegraphing availability and desperation in hopes that the perfect man will purchase our eternal servitude with megabucks. Right? None of that shitty brain-learnin’—it’s all about the old MRS degree! DUH.

No, but seriously. Have you seen this cray-cray editorial—“How to find that perfect husband in college”—from the University of Georgia student newspaper? It’s been floating around feminist blog circles for a few weeks, completely confounding anyone who thought they had a grasp on comedy, satire, youth culture, and sexism (like 14 people have e-mailed it to me with the subject line “in your wheelhouse,” because apparently my wheelhouse is mindboggling shit written by dummies). Basically, nobody knows what to do. With sentences like, “Every true woman knows how vital it is to find the right brilliant babe to father their children and replenish their bank accounts,” it seems hardly possible that author Amber Estes could be serious. (Also, her picture looks like a human Onion article.) That said, people believe all kinds of stupid garbage when they’re in college, and sexism is hella not dead. If this piece is satire, then sorry Jonathan Swift I’mma let you finish but Amber Estes is like the greatest satirist of all time. If it’s sincere, then all optimistic progressives should weep, because DOOM. DOOM. DOOM. Drums in the deep, y’all!!!

So is Amber Estes a genius or an affront to modern womanhood or just a misguided kid? I have no idea*, but I do know that if she wants to find a husband, her shit’s all wrong. She didn’t go far enough!!!

FOR INSTANCE.

Step 1: The first step to finding your perfect husband in college, Estes says, is to be in college. Great point! Then, once you’re surrounded by hot “hunnies” wearing “nothing but the frattiest clothes”…

All you have to do is pick out your perfect prince, and zero in for the kill.

This is a great point, but I’m pretty sure Amber Estes is speaking figuratively. What she doesn’t understand is that if you really want to land the perfect guy, you need to get inside his head—literally!!! After you “zero in for the kill,” you need to actually kill him. Then eat his organs to absorb his memories and powers! That way, when the next Mr. Perfect comes along, you’ll know exactly how to seduce him (because you’ve trapped man’s immortal soul within your womanly womb-prison!).

Step 2: Everyone knows that a dude is just a penis with dollar signs shooting out of it. But how does an eligible lady locate the most dollar-signiest penises on campus? Well, just hang out around “the law school, Ag Hill or Terry,” says Amber Estes. That’s where the “ambitious” guys congregate. Then, it’s only a matter of showing up in the perfect outfit:

The trick here is to look flawless, seemingly without trying. Nothing screams desperate louder than a girl who is all dolled up in her nicest outfits lounging outside of Terry.

Oh girl, TOTALLY. Nothing turns dudes off faster than girls wearing nice clothes. If you’re trying to send the message that “I want you to jizz money inside of me,” here’s how to dress for success: Go to Victoria’s Secret and pick up the cutest pair of boyfriend sweats. Then, cut a hole around the vagina part, and make sure your vagina is flawlessly manicured! This lets guys know that you are a classy, feminine woman who means business. On your top half, to make it clear you’re not trying too hard AND to keep dudes’ attention where it belongs (ON YOUR SAFE DEPOSIT BOX, OBV), just smear yourself with the animal dung of your choice, and then write, “Eyes down here!” and a big downward arrow in the dung. As a hat: more dung. Or a bowler.

Step 3: “Instagram everything.” This way, potential husbands can evaluate your body and face on the internet and decide whether or not they want to buy you. But careful! There are pitfalls:

Make sure you take pictures with your pretty friends, but not ones that are prettier than you. That way the boys know you don’t hang around with uggos, but it’s also crystal clear that you’re the queen of the pack.

I’m not sure what this author has against the Uggo people of southern Peru—they are a noble race and proud! But I suppose you should probably take her advice and only hang out with people who look almost exactly like you, only very slightly less pretty. For best results, make a bunch of clones of yourself and then do something to make each one kinda janky. Like punch fake-you in the tooth so your tooth comes out! Or throw a shrimp or lizard into the cloning machine during the replication process. Let’s how many dates Julie Beta CX3.012 gets once she has mandibles!

Step 4: Amber sez:

On your first date, STAY CLASSY. A man won’t get down on one knee for a woman who is overly willing to get down on both of hers. You want him to see joint bank accounts in your future, not a joint cab ride home to his place.

Such a great point. Waiting as long as possible to have sex is the best way to ensure a long-lasting commitment. But why stop there? Clearly the purest and best love ever would be to get married, wait 80 years, and then finally have beautiful, rickety sex on your deathbed just before you slip away into nothingness. Because if he’s really worth it he’ll wait, sister! No, hold on hold on—even better. The most romantic first date of all time would be to immediately run from each other as fast as you can, and then seal yourselves in separate hyperbaric chambers on exact opposite poles of the earth. Then lie still and wait for death. You gotta make him work for it, girl! RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROMANCE!!!!!

Step 5: Okay. Great job so far, ladies. But now it’s time to get down to business.

Once he does make you his girlfriend, the hard-to-get phase must end. Playing coy was fun, but coy does not a trophy wife make. This is the phase where you put this boy on lockdown.

A couple of quibbles here. First of all, koi make very good wives. They stay in their ponds, they know when to shut up, they keep the mosquito population down. And don’t underestimate the erotic potential of “playing koi” in the bedroom! (Okay, I’ll be the sexy carp and you be the guy who replenishes the fungicidal cakes in the pond at the Japanese Garden!)

But secondly, I think Amber Estes is really aiming low here. I mean, sure, age 19 seems like the perfect time to throw your life away and commit to an eternity of being a useless object with no agency who contributes nothing to the world, but why wait so long? Why not start at 7? Just find yourself the warlord with the longest braid on the barren steppes and show him you can churn the finest fermented mare’s milk in all the Free Cities. Then sit back and enjoy your lifetime of servitude and face-grime!

Step 6: And voila!

If you have flawlessly executed steps one through five, that Tiffany’s ring will undoubtedly be sitting pretty on your finger by the time graduation rolls around.

“Tiffany” is the bitch you murdered so you could steal her ring.

Encourage your man to go wherever the money is, and then stay by his side regardless of any circumstance.

Things that are not dealbreakers: If he abuses you. If he neglects you. If he frames you for murder. If he has your name legally changed to “Duchess Shit Piglet” and makes you eat mud out of the garbage. If he has sex with your sister while you’re in the hospital recovering from your hysterectomy. If he tramples your parents to death in a chariot race. If you discover that he’s not actually a man—he was a white picket fence this whole time.

Things that are dealbreakers: If the money runs out. Worst husband ever.

*And neither, apparently, does the newspaper she’s printed in, which has recently added an “Online Poll” next to the article asking, “Is Amber Estes column titled ‘How to find that perfect husband in college’ a satire? Yes/No/I don’t know.” OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS. IT IS YOUR NEWSPAPER. YOU TELL ME. That’s like if I showed up in your house at 3 am with a knife and was all, “Online poll, motherfucker! Am I about to murder you right now? Yes/No/I don’t know.” ANSWER THE QUESTION.