Eh. I don’t know. Do you have the spring boyfriends in yet? I’m slightly crazier in the winter, plus there’s all that driving and family time and spending money on gifts and meals between now and Valentine’s.
My dating representative — Public Consumption Smug — is currently busy hermiting under a mountain of blankets. The only way I’d be down for “Netflix and chill” is in the literal sense — I have popcorn and bourbon cider, you bring the movie. I will wear my finest pajamas and will even locate MATCHING fuzzy socks.
This is my game at this point, y’all.
Joking aside, were there a man on this couch, I’m pretty sure I could summon the energy to have ill-advised sex with him, assuming he could get it up on spec for the presumptive bounty lurking beneath the Temple hoodie and yoga pants. #SexyAndIKnowIt
I love the implication that it’s just THAT easy to “claim” a man who’ll deal with me, and me with him, long enough to get promoted to “boyfriend.” See, what you have here, Hinge, is applicants for the “seasonal help wanted” sign on my vagina. That’s not a boyfriend, sweetie, that’s a temp — he’d be filling an opening. Like at the Gap (heh). Stop trying to make it all rom-com.
Smug Singleton 