Sometimes, staying awake in your afternoon classes seems almost impossible, especially if your brilliant neighbors decided to have an all-night Guitar Hero tournament (dorm rooms have notoriously thin walls). It’s 2:30 p.m., your morning coffee has just worn off, and you find yourself slipping in and out of consciousness during your American History lecture. What do you do?
Your period is late. The more you think about it, the more you convince yourself that you’re definitely pregnant. Even if your period isn’t late, the risk of pregnancy weighs on you like that bad hangover from last weekend. Turn off “16 and Pregnant” because it’s not helping.
Last Tuesday Aylin and I had the opportunity to attend one show at Fashion Week. I can proudly say that my first ever experience at this kind of event was with Bebe, and the clothes were to-die-for—frilly dresses, summery florals paired with chic blazers, scalloped hemlines, and killer sunglasses. I was in fashion heaven, but getting there was not easy.
She was standing in a dressing room wearing a $700 evening gown when she called us crying.
“I need to speak to Mom,” she demanded. “Now.”
Admit it; your last boyfriend was a loser. He never returned your calls, broke off dates, and flirted with everything that had a pair of you-know-whats, but you were in love. Every time he coughed up the $3.95 to take you on an ice cream date, you melted faster than your chocolate chip mint cone. Cue gag. How could you have been so wrong?
It starts slowly—texts become less frequent or maybe he forgets to call and say goodnight. Your phone, which you previously considered an extra limb, is sitting ignored in the passenger’s seat while you hit the beach with your BFFs. As July rounds the corner, and you nervously refresh your Facebook page wondering “Why hasn’t he written on my wall?” you rea
