33 Hilarious Tweets That Perfectly Sum Up Being A Woman
When you force me to navigate a slideshow, I generally want terrible things to happen to you and never find the article worthy of all those clicks.
But then sometimes I almost choke to death on an animal cracker when I snort-laugh, and it makes it all worthwhile:
(Plus, excellent integration of Easy A.)
One of the many things I love about being a woman: I’m at work, wearing a dress similar to this one.
So basically I’m, like, six strategic seams away from wearing lingerie or a long tank top in public, and everyone’s totally fine with it.
Via Distractify: 35 Spot-On Tweets About Being A Woman Guaranteed To Make You Laugh.
Some of these are funnier than anything I’ve said ever or WILL say ever in life.
Also, I can’t wear rompers — mostly because I don’t romp, but also because my (FINE-ASS) body is just not intended to go into a grownup onesie.
A male coworker and I got to the coffee pot at the same time, and he did the gentlemanly hand gesture and said, “After you.”
I enjoy being a woman.
Yes, I’m terrible feminist, but really, if getting to the legal, addictive stimulants first is the only way I know how to use my feminine wiles, that seems relatively harmless.
Since I bitched so much about fashion yesterday, allow me to extol its virtues today.
So far today I’ve been complimented twice on my outfit. It’s a really simple stretchy cotton sundress, and the fabric is darted in a way that accentuates my best bits. I wore it because it’s Monday and fuck Monday and it’s 100-and-ball-sweat degrees with 600% humidity, and I need to wear as little clothing as possible. It looks lovely, but it’s just so simple to throw on and there’s no matching and no pants and no buttons or zippers, and it feels like I’m wearing a men’s t-shirt.
Being a woman RULES. OK, yes, I’ll have epic Chub Rub on the insides of my thighs from now until October, but eh. I’m at work wearing what amounts to a very fancy pillowcase, so I’ll deal.
I enjoy being a woman. Because I was just thinking, I’d be a little miffed if a guy texted me and said: “I know we were supposed to have a date tonight. But what do you say we just hang out at my place, you do naughty things to me, and then we can order pizza?”
Coming from a woman, though, I think that would make me a hero. Like Wonder Woman. But without that troublesome cockblocking panty.