Stop trying to make selfies happen. They’re not going to happen. TSM.
Stop trying to make selfies happen. They’re not going to happen. TSM.
The dozens of “How was your exam? But more importantly, what are we doing tonight?” texts post-finals. TSM.
The immediate “Do we like her?” text to your bestie when a sister asks if she can invite someone. TSM.
Telling him “I’d feel bad if you spent that much on me,” fully knowing he’ll take it as a challenge. TSM.
You wear too much eyeliner for me to take you seriously. TSM.
Your closet being organized into three sections: casual daytime clothes, pin attire, and stuff that would send your father into cardiac arrest. TSM.
All I want for Christmas is you…to march your ass to the nearest Tiffany & Co. TSM.
“People you know” might as well be “girls who have made out with the same boys as you have.” TSM.
Snacking to relieve finals stress. NS. Shacking to relieve finals stress. TSM.
Pregaming your Spanish class fiesta. TSM.
You know it’s getting serious with a guy when you’re on “selfie status.” TSM.
Pregaming a date with wine. Or Xanax. Or both. TSM.
The before-you-leave-for-break hunt for all the clothes you lent out to sisters this semester. TSM.
Trying to use your monogrammed frocket as a form of identification at the DMV. TSM.
Strategically planning your outfits according to who you will see that day. TSM.
See ya never. TSM.
Your letters working better than mistletoe. TSM.
Passing your officer position and your fake ID down to your little. TSM.
Going through letter withdrawal when you become a Rho Chi. TSM.
It doesn’t matter how you do on your finals, as long as your future husband is acing his. TSM.