Being accused of paying for your friends…and your football players. TSM.

My dog and I share bows. TSM.

I wish Lilly Pulitzer made flasks. TSM.

This tanning salon is like Cheers. Everybody knows my name. TSM.

Whenever we study together in groups, the conversation always somehow turns to wedding plans. TSM.

The ozone layer hates recruitment season. TSM.

TSM: Thursday, Saturday, Monday. A schedule for staying bare down there. TSM.

Facebook stalking to pick out your future little’s future fratdaddy. TSM.

Do they sell flasks at Michaels? TSM.

Post-cheeseburger regret. TSM.

Perfecting the art of basket-arrangement. TSM.

Layer of hairspray on my iPhone screen. TSM.

You bring home the bacon and I’ll make a sandwich out of it. TSM.

The only time anyone is ever allowed to call me Big is when my Little says it. TSM.

Drawing out your sorority family tree instead of studying. TSM.

Writing a book report on “Are you there Vodka? It’s me Chelsea.” TSM.

Being the most hungover person in class and still looking the best. TSM.

Your little disliking all the same people as you not because you told her to, but because you are that good of a match. TSM.

I like using his monogramed towel when we shower together. TSM.

My boyfriend’s taste in everything got a lot better when he started dating me. TSM.