I learned the hard way about cramps. Specifically, that they can be painful enough to make you puke.
You’re constantly at a crossroads between wearing the only jeans that look good on you (aka: low-rise) or exposing your butt crack to the world. #TheStruggleIsReal
You’re no longer just best friends. You’re like arms and legs on one body. You’re each other’s family and soulmate.
If someone feeds you lines to get something from you, that says more about their personality than the fact that you trusted them.
You feel like it’s you against the world, but sometimes all you need to do is ask. Ask for someone to talk to, ask for help, or maybe even just ask to go to lunch with someone.
This is stupid. I’m not six years old anymore. I’m a grown, independent woman with a French press for crying out loud. That kind of level of adulthood doesn’t have room for something as silly as a crush.
A girl from my class looks at herself in the mirror in the girls’ bathroom and says “I’m gross.” “What’s gross?” I ask her. “It means bad or fat,” she says.
Rosé is the Boone’s of adult ladyhood. But now, instead of barfing it up in a fraternity party basement, you’ll barf it up in the comfort of your very own over-mortgaged home.
Being a woman knocks me down and gives me a crutch all at the same time. It’s part of my professional identity and current plan for success.
A woman like Hillary Clinton, who has statistically not supported women in telling their stories like you so claim you are behind, does not deserve that pedestal.