People know my name before they ever meet me. TSM.

The seamless transition from morning sex to sisterhood retreat. TSM.

Sometimes I feel like a carbon copy of my big. TSM.

A man who treats his woman like a princess is proof that he has been raised by a queen. TSM.

You call it bitchy. I call it honesty. TSM.

Fighting over wedding scheme colors. Currently single. TSM.

Buying the 3 military guys their first round of shots to say thank you for fighting for our country…then having them insist on buying the rest of my drinks for the night for being “easy on the eyes.” TSM.

Pink goes with everything. TSM.

Saw a fellow sister on a walk of shame. We both snapped. TSM.

The 4-year-old I sit for found the sticker page in my Lilly planner. It took all of my self control not to grab it out of her hand and yell “MINE!” TSM.

You don’t wear pearls to be classy. You are classy, therefore, you wear pearls. TSM.

Making the extra effort to look your classiest on Saturday to make up for Friday night. TSM.

Being paranoid and thinking my roommate is always baking for me so that she can have my Lilly when I get too fat for it. TSM.

Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. TSM.

The age old question: Do I curl or straighten the hair for my composite picture? TSM.

You can’t always get what you want. But I can. TSM.

Getting frustrated when the composite photographer won’t let you do a head tilt during your picture. TSM.

My heroes wear dog tags, not capes. TSM.

I don’t know whether I’m more in love with my big or my boyfriend. TSM.

Raiding mommy’s closet and daddy’s wallet. TSM.