Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.

February 11, 2000

So there I was, chatting with my older sister on the phone, filling her in on assorted stories from class, work and the bowling alley, when she interrupted and asked how things were going on the relationship front.

I replied with a quick, “Nothing to report, thanks,” and continued my story about Eddie bowling a 245 with his shoes on the wrong feet, but she wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

“C’mon,” she persisted. “Just tell me if you’re interested in anyone or if there’s anything on the horizon.”

“Nope. No one. Nothing.”

“There’s gotta be someone. There’s always someone.”

I hate this line of questioning, because there’s no escape, no surrender.

Ever since I went on my first date in fourth grade, she’s tried to keep tabs on my social life. Ever since she told my fourth-grade fling’s older sister that I was in love and that it would be really neat to be sisters-in-law, I’ve tried to keep her out of my social life.

It’s not that she doesn’t mean well; she just gets a little too optimistic about my relationships. In fact, I think she’s more excited than me the day after I go on a first date.

A few years back I made the mistake of telling her that I was going out with a girl from class that I really liked. Twice a day, every day leading up to the big night, my sister called with random words of wisdom. Nothing like a little unsolicited advice to add pressure to a situation.

Well, the date didn’t go so well and my female friend ended up ditching me at the restaurant only to resurface attached to another guy from class later that night at the bar.

The next day when my sister called, I had to relive the horrific ordeal in painstakingly detailed fashion, all because she couldn’t figure out where things went wrong. I just figured it was right about the time when my date didn’t return from the restroom.

So I’ve tried to avoid letting her in on too many details of my love life, but somehow she always finds out. History has shown that right about the time I’m confident with a relationship and feel like I can let her in on the news, something bad happens.

Maybe it’s because she wants someone other than me to offer guidance to my niece and nephew. Maybe it’s because she wants more presents on her birthday. Or maybe it’s because she’s tired of getting picked on when we play card games and she wants a new low man on the totem pole. Regardless, she wants me to find my soulmate, and she wanted it to happen yesterday.

After about 20 minutes of badgering, I broke down and said that there might be someone I’m interested in, but it’s still early and I refused to reveal any details.

I told her about this nice girl that I met over several spilled beers that seemed to enjoy my company while sparking my interest for a good portion of the night. I told her how we laughed together for the better part of two hours while still carrying on an intelligent conversation.

“So when are you going to see her again?” she interrupted.

That’s when I broke the bad news that she had left the bar with little to no warning and that I had no way of getting a hold of her.

“Oh, so it’s the Cinderella syndrome.”

The Cinderella syndrome?

“You know, guy and girl meet one night and totally connect, but then part ways without any idea of when they’ll meet again. Just like Cinderella. Without the funny little mice.”

Oh. After a few more minutes of chit chat, I hung up and thought about what she had said.

Unlike Cinderella, my new friend didn’t leave a glass slipper and I don’t have any leads except a rundown of some of her favorite bands.

All I can do now is pray the curse of sisterly intervention doesn’t interfere as I roam around Campustown, trying to play the part of the prince. I’ll just have to keep my eyes open for those funny little mice.