Dear Peter Pan,

How are you? It’s been too long! Hey listen, if it’s not too big of a deal, could you possibly look into kidnapping me and taking me to Neverland at your earliest convenience.

I’m sorry to bother you at such a busy time. Between battling Captain Hook, playing games with the Lost Boys, dealing with that manipulative bitch of a sidekick Tinkerbell and being horrifically politcally incorrect with the “Injuns,” I know you probably don’t get much “Peter” time. But I am at the boiling point, Code Red, Fail-Safe, call it what you will. Peter, I’m desperate. I mean, why else would a twenty-two-year-old B.A. undergrad be writing a letter to a fictional children’s character?

Here’s the problem: I don’t want to grow up! At the urging of my parents, I went to the Career Center the other day. It was overwhelming! How am I supposed to know what to do with my life? My peers are already talking about networking, job searching, marriage and children. But I still am a child! I giggle at fart noises, build forts and play Mario Kart; I should not be making career-oriented decisions! The advisers were patient and kind, but I still launched into freak-out mode. I left with arms laden in pamphlets and packets about resume writing, grad schools and “How to Take the G.R.E.”

When did this happen? Yesterday I was asking Santa for a Pogo Stick for Christmas; now I am facing “The Real World”: Master’s Programs, cubicles, bills, rent, Casual Fridays, not being able to live off Mommy and Daddy’s insurance, etc. Needless to say, as I left the Career Center my heart was full of panic … and my pants full of urine.

Now this is where you come in, Peter! You are the child who defies growing up, and I therefore turn to you for help. Just as you rescued Wendy on the eve of her transition to adulthood, you too must come and bail my ass out of this ship that is heading towards an intimidating, mysterious future of post-graduation. Take me faraway to Neverland where I won’t have to take the G.R.E., worry about insurance premiums or how to squeeze this month’s rent out of a deadbeat roommate.

I know that requesting my own abduction is an imposition, but the way I see it, you kind of owe me. I was an avid fan of your Disney movie as a child; I tolerated the brassy, migraine-inducing voice of Mary Martin in the 1960 musical version; I listed Hook under “Favorite Movies” on Facebook; I rented that God-awful sequel Return to Neverland, of which we shall not speak; and I contributed to the box office revenue of the 2003 live action movie, starring that hot (though not quite legal) Pan. I have been there for you, man, help a sister out!

I have enclosed some pictures of my res hall, my dorm room number and my evening schedule for the month so you know which nights I will be busy. For example, pledging is all of next week. And I definitely want to see the Theatre Department’s main stage fall show, so don’t whisk me away before then. Also, make sure you don’t leave fingerprints or DNA in my room; I’ve seen CSI, and those bastards will find you. Plus, I did some research on Google and I think kidnapping is a federal offense when it crosses state lines. And since you’d be taking me out of state, country and the entire reality I know and accept, I’m guessing you’d do some hard time, potentially.

I hope this letter reaches you soon, because I have interviews with H&R Block and Teach for America next week. I know the postage system might be finicky, since your mailing address is “Second Star to the Right and Straight on ‘Til Morning.” And now that I think about it, you did say you don’t get any letters. Hmm.

You know what? Disregard everything in this note. I’ll take my case to Alice; maybe we can run off to Wonderland or whatever.

Thanks for your time,
Maggie Sotos