Every Harvard woman should be for Hillary. Yes, she went to Wellesley, it's true, but though not one of our own, Hillary is undeniably one of us. She isn't just a typical Harvard girl, she's the entire institution of Radcliffe--and now Harvard--women.

Ivy-League educated (Yale Law, don't forget), smart as a whip and not-so-well-liked, Hillary is known for her artful equivocations in front of grand juries (Whitewater). We're known for them on our exams.

In an award-winning article, a Radcliffe student, Faye Levine '65, once broke us Harvard women down into three categories; peach, chocolate and lime. Chocolate is the high-achieving sort, not as pretty as peach or chic as lime, but ambitious and bright. We participate in extracurriculars with a vengeance, we won't shut up in section and like Hillary, people never need to wonder what we think.

We can imagine ourselves, and Hillary, being the kind of "girls who address envelopes for the Young Democrats, meet the boys who aspire to the Senate, and on rainy days...look more rained on than in other classes," as Levine wrote. Yes, it's sad but true--us chocolates aren't all that glamorous. But, like Hillary, we were our graduation speakers, the one who always raised knew the answer, the inveterate teacher's pet and annoying classmate. Shamefully, we too wore those ugly headbands.

That doesn't mean we aren't winning, nonetheless. In the olden days of aristocracy (Levine wrote her Dana Reed Prize-winning essay in 1963) there may have been more New York peach types, or beatnik limes, but in the new millennium meritocracy, us chocolates are in the majority.

And though in our college days we have little time for our appearance because we are studying fiercely, just like Hillary did, we know that our best years are yet to come. We feel happy knowing that, like Hillary, as soon as we make our millions on Wall Street or Pennsylvania Avenue, we will be able to afford expensive make-overs that will reveal our true beauty. Thanks to Hillary, we can smirk at all the lovely peaches and cool limes knowing that we, the chocolates, have the best end-game.

It hasn't been all good times though. Like Hillary, we had our early '90s health care crisis; the failed banning of final clubs by the now-defunct Radcliffe Union of Students. That didn't help our popularity much. And, sadly enough, in the new millennium we still haven't dealt with the issue to either of our satisfactions.

Though we don't like to admit it because we're perfectionists too, we made mistakes just like Hillary did: She had shady, secretive dealings in an Arkansas land deal; we had shady, secretive dealings in a Harvard merger involving buildings on land. Neither of us likes to talk about it much.

Like Hillary, our man (or men) has done us wrong. He boards the bus to Wellesley and referred to us derogatorily as The Annex when we had been Radcliffe College for years. Despite our man's unfaithfulness however, we knew, just like Hillary, that those other girls were just amusement. He needs us. As the old saying goes, "Simmons girls to bed, Wellesley girls to wed and Radcliffe girls to talk to." Hillary is more Harvard than Wellesley, wedding ring or no.

Like Hillary, we detest dumb girls like Monica. We understand that our man might be attracted to those easily pleased, over-eager twits, but we can't forgive it. Why is she always younger than us--either the nave first-year or girl back home? We, the wise and cynical ones, know it can't last, but we wish it were a vast right-wing conspiracy instead of a squalid weakness of the flesh.

But frankly, just like Hillary, we can't tell him to hit the road. We're part of him now (literally in our case) and there's really no reason to separate. We weighed the costs and the benefits and it was clear; were better off with John Harvard than without him.

But that doesnt mean we're going to take the back seat anymore. No no. We're ready to let him cling to our coattails for a change. After all, we're getting better grades, winning awards, making our mark in the world. We've been biding our time, waiting for the right moment to make our grand entrance.

And now, we're ready to step into the limelight, just like Hillary. No apologies, no excuses, we even have our own own club (the Seneca) and were going to show those old boys what we're made of. That twerp Lazio? He's toast. C'mon girls, let's show Hillary we're made of the stronger stuff.

Meredith B. Osborn '02 is a social studies concentrator in Leverett House. Her column appears on alternate Fridays.