Oh hey girls, so you know, once a month your body decides to go apeshit and fuck you over? Yeah. It’s totally that time for me.
Why is there no such thing as a drive-thru potato chip pick up window? I either have to get out of my car to get what I want, or I have to settle for something I don’t want. It’s ridiculous. So I’m forced to get out of my car and let people see me in my scrubby clothes, shuffling through the store with a single giant bag of potato chips and a giant bar of chocolate. Guess what? Everyone knows I’m PMS-ing like a bitch.
So while I’m shuffling like a wounded animal with my junk, I run directly into someone. Am I texting rude things? Yes. Do I run directly, like actually physically run into someone? Yes. Do I squeal like a little girl when my head comes right in contact with his arm? Yes. Does he look like the muscled out guido that I go to class with? Yes. Did he just get back from the gym? PROBABLY. How do I know this? Because I ran right into his over-muscled and half naked chest and he’s damp. Do I want to die a little? Yes. Yes I do.