Every empty bottle has a story. TSM.

Refusing to play his snapchat story. TSM.

Needing a second 21st birthday because you don’t remember the first one. TSM.

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

A shack shirt is just a souvenir. TSM.

Your only excuse being “We were at the beach” when your mom asks why you drunkenly called her mid-day. TSM.

Having an ever-growing collection of single earrings you refuse to get rid of. TSM.

Having to start every party story with “I don’t actually remember any of this, but apparently…” TSM.