You know life has taken a shit turn when your underwear doesn’t match.
And the quality of that underwear is a guide to measure the shitness on.
Me? I was pretty sure I had a hole on the waistband of these boy shorts, so, yeah. My life was at Epically Fucked with a heavy dose of Heartbreak Hell on the life quality guide.
But what can you do?
Tuck your change from the cashier into the pocket of your sweatpants and grab your ice cream—that’s what.
I got into my car, my ice cream snug on the passenger’s seat, and pulled away from the store. Tonight was my final night of the allotted seven-day mourning period after the breakdown of a relationship, so basically, it was my last chance to be a miserable bitch in public. Okay, so I added a couple of days onto the mourning period, but whatever. I plannn
