Daddy’s little girl. TSM.

I wear a bow in my hair because I’m a prize to be won. TSM.

If it’s not monogrammed, then it’s not mine. TSM.

Waving at the geed who stares at me in class. I think he shot a load in his cargos. TSM.

Only applying for teaching jobs in the city where the frat daddy is in law school. TSM.

Paid for a drink with my number last night. TSM.

Hall and Oats wrote “Rich Girl” for me before I was even conceived. TSM.

Having my roommates blow dry my hair. TSM.

Classy cleavage. TSM.

Perfecting the bitch glare by third grade. TSM.

Never went through a teenage angst stage. TSM.

Being a hot southern mess. TSM.

Sunday post-teased hair is the worst. TSM.

When I was 5 my role models were Cinderella, Barbie, and Miss America. Things haven’t changed. TSM.

Totally precious. NS. Totes presh. TSM.

Adderall for breakfast. A tic tac for lunch. Franzia for dinner. TSM.

The TCU Showgirls all having matching Vera bags. TSM.

Picking out a little based on her wardrobe. TSM.

Carrying your new Burberry rainboots because you don’t want to get them wet. TSM.

Reading cookbooks before bed at night. TSM.