Weep as the umpteenth bored 20-something insinuates you’re going to die alone whilst petting a chicken in your mother’s basement.
Die a little inside at the umpteenth use of “20-something.”
Plan your next *~TRaVeL ADveNtuRE~*.
Have an existential breakdown at the size of your savings account and 401K. #helpmeimpoor
Seriously contemplate quitting your job to join a traveling circus.
Stop partying so much and settle down. No, keep partying you’re young&wild&free. No, stop partying you’re a fucking adult.
Am I a basic bitch? Definitely not. (You are.)
Question every single interaction you’ve ever had with a member of the opposite sex.
Wonder where the term “friend-fat” came from and why you suddenly need to trim it.
OMG, THAT’S WHY HE DIDN’T TEXT ME BACK?!
Yeah, but weed doesn’t count.
I need to start putting what on my face?
Being single ROX.
Relationships are everything. Singletons are just crones-waiting-to-happen whose only fulfillment comes from shopping carts full of empty plastic bags.
I miss my parents.
What men *actually* want in bed is equally as informative and as it is horrifying.
YOU WANT ME TO START THINKING ABOUT KIDS?!?! I THREW UP IN AN UBER LAST NIGHT.
Can’t wait to go out on the town this weekend.
Can’t wait to sip red wine this weekend while rehearsing pick-up lines on Tinder matches as I consider getting my first Brazilian wax.
Holy shit, I’m Bridget Jones.
Feel like you’re doing *it* all wrong.
Feel like you’re doing *it* all right.
Nope, you’re doing *it* wrong.
Fuck. The. Lists. (Whatever happened to free will and paragraphs, #amiright?)