As May creeps around and graduation bells start ringing, so does the little devil in my ear whispering the most dangerous four-word question in the English language:
So… what are we?
Because apparently senior year isn’t stressful enough.
No, on top of finals, graduation pictures, figuring out where the hell you’re gonna live after college, and pretending LinkedIn isn’t just corporate Tinder, now I have to evaluate the man who’s been raw-dogging my emotions since October.
A situationship during senior year is actually one of God’s funniest social experiments.
Because all year you’re cool.
Calm. Casual. Unbothered.
You’re “just vibing.”
Until you realize “just vibing” somehow turned into a six-month emotional hostage situation with a mediocre white man who started off obsessed with you and then disappeared the second you started liking him back.
Classic.
And that’s always how it goes.
At first, he’s harassing you.
Texting first. Wanting to see you. Acting like you’re the best thing that’s happened to him since Zyns and lacrosse.
You think, wow, maybe this one’s different.
Embarrassing.
Because now we barely talk.
And by barely talk, I mean if you looked at our messages, you’d assume we both died.
But somehow this man still finds time to use my Hulu account like clockwork.
Hot.
Situationships are weird because they’re never consistent enough to call a relationship, but consistent enough to ruin your week.
You stop talking.
Then randomly, after a night out, there he is.
Standing at the bar like a jump scare.
And suddenly, all your self-respect leaves your body.
Because no matter how much you swore to your friends you were done, the second he looks at you, it’s like your memory gets wiped like it was a part of the Epstein files.
Fast forward three drinks and now you’re leaving together.
Again.
Because muscle memory is real.
And every time it’s the same.
Go back to his place.
Hook up.
Sleep over.
Wake up at 6:30 a.m. in yesterday’s makeup (because why would you ever keep makeup wipes there), violently hungover, wondering why you’re horizontal in a man’s twin XL-adjacent mattress when you got home at 4 and have work in two hours.
Nothing builds character like doing the walk of shame at sunrise with your top from the night before in hand.
And the funniest part?
Drunk him is basically a different person.
Suddenly, he’s sweet.
Attentive.
Talking like he actually has thoughts.
Looking at you like you invented humor.
And for a few hours, you start believing maybe this is the real him.
But sober him acts like witness protection relocated him.
It’s honestly impressive.
That’s what makes situationships so addictive.
They survive entirely on drunk chemistry and false hope.
A hand on your waist at the bar, and suddenly you’re like, wait… is this my husband?
Girl.
Be serious.
Senior year makes it worse because now graduation is around the corner.
And with graduation comes real life.
No more random bar reunions.
No more drunken sleepovers.
No more “there’s always next weekend.”
Now it’s like okay… are we taking this into adulthood or was this just a semester-long psychological experiment?
Because I refuse to move into my post-grad era still wondering if a man likes me when he’s seen me at my absolute worst and somehow still kept me confused.
At some point, you have to ask.
Not because you want marriage.
Relax.
But because clarity is hot.
And confusion is exhausting.
So maybe this May, while everyone else is figuring out jobs and apartments, you’ll be figuring out whether this situationship was real or if you were just his favorite after-bar habit.
Either way, one thing is getting cut off after graduation:
Him or my Hulu password.
Whichever comes first.
