This morning I made the terrible mistake of taking a little looksie at the ol’ bank account, and I really haven’t recovered yet.
I’m not sure anything can ever really prepare you for that reality check, but if you also find yourself stunned with the truth of your own spending habits, I think I have something that can help soothe that burn: hilarious tweets from women!
So sit back, relax, and forget about that number that just made your soul die a little while you enjoy some gut-busting treats, courtesy of the amazing ladies of Twitter.
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What a romantic story.
I have made it very clear to my boyfriend where he is not allowed to propose to me, should he ever feel the need to devote himself for me for life or whatever. I guess now I’ll be adding “Olive Garden” to that list.
Also included: jumbotrons at sporting events, family gatherings, or any crowded places where our private moment has an audience.
Big mistake.
Honestly, I hope I never end up with someone who tries to give me unwarranted workout tips.
You can kindly keep those opinions to yourself where they belong.
Please.
I know there’s a difference, like, I’m sure of it… I just don’t know what that difference is.
Cheese? No cheese? I’m useless.
My biggest fans.
I’ve never even met most of them but the minute my mom posts a picture of me on Facebook, my fan club suddenly comes out.
The audacity.
Yes, I’m looking at you every-female-celebrity-ever.
You’ve got some nerve.
Gotta make sure it fits first.
The name has to suit your lifestyle, so make sure you test it out, get a feel for it. This is very important.
Why am I like this?
I feel like I spend way more time writing things on my to-do list than I do checking them off. And I don’t ever really see that changing, to be honest.
I do not have the patience for slow cookers.
I’m a need-it-right-now kind of person, and that attitude extends into my cooking habits. I have zap-fried many things in the microwave that definitely do not belong in there.
Even just reading that sentence made me tense up.
My entire University career was spent re-introducing myself via some very awkward icebreaker games in which I either had to come up with an interesting fact about myself, two truths and a lie, or by sharing my favorite flavor of ice cream.
And then proceeding to never talk to anyone in any of my classes.
This is too real.
The anger that I exhibit while trying to force a comb through my tangled hair is honestly startling. Like, I don’t know her. She’s terrifying.
Yes, exactly.
If you aren’t scooping an inordinate amount of ranch onto your chicken strip then I’m sorry, but you’re not eating those right.
Emotional road rage is real, y’all.
Every time I get behind the wheel I lose every ounce of tolerance I have for other people and I turn into this bitter woman violently cursing every single person who dares to pull out in front of me.