Being the hot lifeguard. TSM.
Being the hot lifeguard. TSM.
The Lilly Pulitzer warehouse sale will be like Black Friday, only more colorful, stressful, chaotic and limited to people who matter. TSM.
Wearing letters for your driver’s license picture. TSM.
And he thinks I’m the slam. TSM.
Planning your holidage outfits so you have the perfect amount of holiday spirit without looking like a tool. TSM.
He asked for a sandwich. I gave him a PBJ, hold the P. TSM.
Only God can judge, but your outfit makes it hard to resist. TSM.
Asking a new boy his major, his fraternity, and his name. In that order. TSM.
Anything that can chip your manicure is men’s work. TSM.
Husbands don’t leave hickeys. TSM.
Just bitchy enough. TSM.
Wine improves with age. I improve with wine. TSM.
Feeling both flattered and disgusted when you get a text from a GDI that says, “Hey! I just wanted to let you know that you’re beautiful.” TSM.
Remembering your nights by your outfits. TSM.
Buying every shade of blue paint that Michael’s sells to make sure that you have the right one for the American flag on your cooler. TSM.
Being asked to leave the bleachers by the LAX coach because you’re a distraction during practice. TSM.
The sigh of relief when you realize none of your drunk texts will result in permanent damage. TSM.
The “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry” cry. TSM.
I have an obsession with the American flag. TSM.
Skype-Crafting with my little because we can’t bear doing it apart. TSM.