I know I’m getting the new Lilly planner for Christmas, but I need it now because next year’s social calendar is filling up quickly. TSM.

I knew I would be a sorostitute the moment I got my first easy bake oven. TSM.

I’m so classy I have dads ask me to go out with their sons. TSM.

Reinforcing my social network, one plate of Christmas cookies at a time. TSM.

When I shop, instead of returning things I don’t like we donate them to charity. Daddy likes the tax deduction. TSM.

I practice my picture poses in the mirror before I go out. TSM.

Found a baking mix in one of my sister’s pantries. I knew her boobs weren’t the only fake thing about her. TSM.

What’s worse than weighing 100 pounds? Weighing 101. TSM.

A frat swoop and a hat on backwards. I’m like can you take me to another room already? TSM.

No geed, I don’t have your 4.0 that you slaved over in your ratty sweats. But I do have the ability to effortlessly turn into every male’s greatest fantasy when I put on my reading glasses. TSM.

My adderall is pink. TSM.

Have fun cooking and cleaning your whole life southern sorostitute. Where we’re from we have maids to do that. We spend our days with our personal trainers and spending our rich husband’s money. TSM.

My teeth make my pearls look yellow. TSM.

You don’t have to wonder. The answer is yes, I’m judging you. TSM.

Junior League president, just like my mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. TSM.

I wanted to make sure I ate before going out. Just kidding, no I didn’t. TSM.

Only using the men’s bathroom in the srat house so no one knows I poop. TSM.

Taking the Polo shack hat instead of the Brooks Brothers shack shirt because you have sex hair and are late for class. TSM.

I was told I’m spoiled. I told them my parents can afford to show me their love. TSM.

Pretending to listen to my Sociology teacher lecture on materialism while shopping for Christmas presents online. TSM.