People talk too much these days.
The problem with the new motivational mantra is that the notion of comparing ourselves to Beyoncé is – what’s the word? – total horse s*%t.
Asking someone why they’re still single is kind of like asking someone in the Special Olympics why they haven’t made it to the “real Olympics” yet. (Newsflash: it’s rude.)
I’m not starving myself. I’m not depressed. I’m not mad at you.
Does the shirt cover four inches of crotch/thigh area, AT LEAST? Are the leggings somehow embellished to make them more “pant-like”?
A lifetime of verbal diarrhea is causing dehydration of my soul.