Dress to the nines. Sparkle like a ten. TSM.

The “is everyone alive?” group text every Saturday morning. TSM.

“Recruitment video” is a music genre if you ask me. TSM.

Red lips, black soul. TSM.

“She told me to send her a sisterhood moment for recruitment, but I can’t think of one that doesn’t involve alcohol.” TSM.

“Tell me everything you know about him.” TSM.

I’m a bitch. You’ll get used to it. TSM.

You were my cup of tea, but I drink champagne now. TSM.