It’s 9pm. I pour a glass of the always classy boxed wine Franzia and drop my pants to the kitchen floor because, well, I can. Ah, sweet freedom! My Netflix is all queued up and ready to go, and I’m pretty sure I smell like the SexPanther cologne from Anchorman but what do I care? I’ve got no one to impress but my dog! (Who happens to be pretty into animalistic scents himself.)
I thought this sort of night was common for a girl my age. Then again, I also thought gum took 7 years to digest. It appears I was wrong on both counts.
As I wait for my serial killer doc to load I absentmindedly scroll through my newsfeed when I couldn’t help notice not one, not two, but THREE of my friends newly engaged. By friends I mean Facebook friends of course; I’d hope my real friends…
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