I don’t ask for favors, I express my expectations. TSM.

Only in a sorority is it acceptable to be 19 with twins. TSM.

Reality called. I hung up. TSM.

He knows he’s in trouble when I don’t use abbrevs in my texts. TSM.

Why does it always look like Hobby Lobby threw up in my room? TSM.

Starting to hate your little for having a long name. TSM.

The collective gasp when a legacy is cut. TSM.

My boyfriend asked me if he could help me in the kitchen. I told him he could help me put on my heels and tie my apron. TSM.

Hating the awkward struggle to gracefully dismount the elliptical. TSM.

His first name sounds like a last name, and his last name sounds like money. TSM.

Watching the movie instead of reading the required book. TSM.

You’re only as pretty as your ugliest profile pic. TSM.

The only think yankee about me is my favorite candle. TSM.

All I want is just one day a year when I’m not visually assaulted by uglies and fatties. TSM.

Brett Favre causing drama where there is none. TSM.

Not eating all day to maximize your happy hour potential. TSM.

Getting your phone privileges taken away while drinking. TSM.

That’s weird…you’re still talking. TSM.

You may be a little smart, but you’re not as smart as my Little. TSM.

Shack shirt: the reminder of a great night and a questionable morning. TSM.