All the identities of the #singleaf women in my life will be changed to protect their privacy (although, we have no shame at this point).
How today started:
waking up at 11am with no pants on, scrambling to find the oversized hoodie and sweatpants I took off the night before, before slumber but after wine (because, server life, because, yes at 31 I am still a server.)
moving to the couch in the living room to find my vibrator on my coffee table and placed on the couch a Dunkin’ Donut box containing only 3 donuts, because I ate 3 the night before. As I write this, I just remembered I have 3 more and will eat them right now.
this is immediately followed by a Snapchat (Snapchat at 31, eyeroll) of my vibrator and remaining donuts to all my #singleaf ladies because #thisis30’s #singleaf
The ID (Investigation Discovery)channel marathon commences. I understand why women kill their husbands and can relate every single episode to one of my many previous relationships.
During my shower at 2pm, after masturbating with the vibrator previously on the coffee table, I find myself wondering how the fuck the hair on my head always clumps in my butt crack. Why does this happen? This leads to a discussion via a series of text messages to a co-#singleaf about why it happens.
While I’m wandering around in a towel for at least an hour, I look around my apartment realizing why I AM #singleaf. My bedroom literally looks like it did when I was 15. Drawers open, cabinets open, bras literally everywhere, baskets full of folded clean clothes that were never put in their designated drawers, and every dirty piece of clothing from the last 4 days scattered on the floor (oh, there is the pants I had on last night). There is macaroni and cheese crusted to a bowl and pot in my sink,along with a pile of bills I don’t have the money to pay flooding the two-person kitchen table.
Men come here and see I am not exactly wifey matieral. Hence #thisis30’s and #singleaf