God grant me the serenity to accept the grades I cannot change, courage to raise the grades I can, and wisdom to know the difference. TSM.

Knowing you’re over him when you stop checking to see if he watched your Snapchat story. TSM.

Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because he was tall and in a good fraternity, and he’ll probably text you again at 2:34am this Saturday. TSM.

I hope the earring I lost in his bed punctures him in his sleep. TSTC.

Preferring pre-law boys to pre-med boys, because it’s less schooling and more First Lady potential. TSM.

Your fratdaddy knowing that he can laugh at misogynistic TFMs all day, but if he ever treated you unkindly, he’d be ironing his own shirts and making his own sandwiches in a heartbeat. TSM.

I’m not a slampiece, I’m a take-home-to-meet-the-fam-piece. TSM.

I don’t dye my hair or starve myself to stay thin. I don’ t look down upon lower tier sororities. I’m not getting my MRS degree but an MBA instead. I can make a fantastic sandwich, award winning cupcakes and unbutton an Oxford and khakis with one hand. TSM.

Okay geed, you may think I “bought” my friends but at least I don’t have to take photos of myself in the bathroom just so there’s pictures of me on Facebook. TSM.

I don’t play hard to get. I am hard to get. TSM.