S.L.U.T. (single life under thirty) is officially over and you’re still banging your vibrator. Well, doesn't this suck? Who was prepared for your 30s being so super lame? Your hair is turning gray, your boobs are getting wrinkles, and what the hell is this on your face?
No. Way.
Chin. Hair.
Not to mention you can no longer drink without getting a hangover.
What kind of special hell are we ushering in here? It’s called S.L.O.T. (single life over thirty) and unlike its sassy predecessor, S.L.U.T., who could stay up all night and breeze in to work with a sparkle in her eye...real life has started to sink in and it looks a little something like this:
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I stopped washing my sheets every week. Because why? No one is having sex in here.
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My bra gets washed even less. Because why? Who cares?
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I flirt with boys at the gym that I could have birthed in high school. I feel like such a pedo. But more importantly: Because why? They flirt back.
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I eat a half-gallon ice cream for dinner. Because why? No one has to see me naked.
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I stopped Internet dating. Because why? The same guys I saw on there two years ago are still there. #NoMoreOptions
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I constantly consider leaving this town and starting over. Because why? Reason #5.
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I am totally pissed I can’t hire prostitutes like men. Because why? Male prostitutes are gay.
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I stopped going out to the bars to mingle. Because why? The people there look like children and make me feel old.
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I stopped being envious of my friends' marriages. Because why? They are all getting divorced.
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I considered being one of those insane dog people but changed my mind. Because why? I’m a HUGE fan of #NoResponsibility
This concludes my short list of what life is like being a big ol’ S.L.O.T.
