Your uterus can’t handle life today.
I mean, technically it
can handle life, but you just can’t handle cramps. You are walled into your apartment by cases of Natty Light.
And you can’t seem to find your uniform in your Mt. Everest of clothing.
Your cat is just having a really bad day.
Your favorite lipstick melted in the dryer.
And your eyelashes are having a bad hair day, so mascara is out of the question.
You locked your keys in your car.
While it was still running.
And it rolled down a hill and into a building.
You ran out of clean underwear for the week.
And you also ran out of food, so you can’t pack lunch.
Plus, you’ve already worn all of your uniform shirts three times each, so you really need to wash them.
Speaking of which, your washer broke right after your lipstick went through a cycle.
You ran out of gas on your way to work.
And, I mean, you just
happened to be in Panera’s parking lot. The Starbucks line is too long, so you would be late anyways.
Your cute coworker also called in sick.
It’s a Monday.
It’s a Friday.
Your great-aunt’s dog’s cousin’s owner is coming to town, and you have to see him.
You have a hangover.
Or are just still drunk.
You ran out of data for the month, and your workplace doesn’t have wifi.
You accidentally friended your boss’s husband on Facebook, so you need to let the situation blow over.
You can’t leave your one night stand to wake up alone, because you are classy like that.
There’s also a stranger passed out on your couch, so you can’t leave your room.
A new season of your favorite show just came out on Netflix.
Your favorite store could be having a surprise sale today, so you need to be ready at any moment.
You may or may not have woken up in an unfamiliar place.
A place with metal bars and orange jump suits.
Jail. You are in jail.
It’s an obscure holiday of the obscure religion that you supposedly follow.
It’s your last day of work.
Or your first day. Set the bar low, and you can only get better.
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