Doing squats in the tanning booth, because multi-tasking. TSM.

Your big-little gifts making it onto Nationals’ Instagram. TSM.

I don’t like him. I like his penis. TSTC.

Freaking out when people confuse seltzer and tonic. TSM.

I’m invited to my ex-boyfriend’s formal. He isn’t. TSM.

Setting aside $500 in your semester budget for your little. TSM.

Looking at your manager blankly when she condescendingly asks “What’s more important: your job or your sorority?” TSTC.

Partying hard enough to be sent to standards, but being intimidating enough never to be sent. TSM.

Being able to fall asleep to sirens and frat parties as if they were lullabies. TSM.

Leaving room in your planner every week for an inevitable standards meeting. TSM.

Being sent home by the standards chair, only to be brought back by the social chair. TSM.

Laughing when people say that they can’t taste the difference between diet and regular. TSM.

Taking your vitamins with wine. TSM.

The skinny arm being something you have, not something you do. TSM.

I naturally gravitate towards elevated surfaces. TSM.

Being the person with the most control and the fewest contributions to a group project. TSM.

Never wasting a good hair day. TSM.

Introducing yourself as Barbie when he tells you his name is Ken. TSM.

Having completely mixed feelings when your boyfriend tells you to stop getting things monogrammed. TSM.

The post-shack group cuddle/Facebook creep sesh. TSM.