So mah roomdawg and I are chillin in our beds reflecting on our respective failed-in-a-big-way love lives and I actually dare to pose the deeply philosophical (and very very rhetorical) question "WHY DON'T GUYS LIKE ME?!?!?!"
We drop the subject and continue studying for a few minutes. She looks up. I look up. We make eye contact. I make my derpiest peeping tom creeper face and slur through a mouth full of retainer "I'm not wearing pantieth."
And suddenly I am fully aware of myself and laugh harder than I have in weeks, maybe months.
My mouth is full of metal.
My dorky computer glasses are taking up half my face.
My hair is in a gross-ass bun with little wispies poking out like antennae.
I'm wearing a nasty t-shirt with crusty toothpaste slobber dribbled down the front of it.
I smell like Old Spice Figi because I ran out of girl deodorant.
I own boy deodorant.
And I just admitted out loud for no reason to "not wearing pantieth."
It just makes so much sense now.
MORAL OF THE STORY: DON'T ASK QUESTIONS YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO.
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