You’re a down to earth bitch. I mean you’re just “one of the guys”, and obviously so down to chill. No guy has ever called you by your first name, so it’s super convenient that you have a short one-syllable last name like Macks. Can be seen getting swoll at Payne Whitney at 5:30 PM on a Tuesday. Stay calm, and be seen.
You’re trying to get into the winter weight-loss game, but you don’t want anything too crazy. Did you know Oreos are vegan?!?!?! I’m tryna!
Last spring break you ran an outreach program to Costa Rica. It was awesome, because while playing soccer with the kindergarteners, you got certified as a Yoga instructor. Raw is already your life, but your two-week intensive cleanse means that you eliminate all nuts and seeds. And yes, unfortunately that means no almond milk.
Alright TBH, you have bank. Your besties and all the guys you’ve ever hooked up with have all applied for internships at Goldman (B@rcl@ys — eww). You send in your own photos to Rich Kids of Instragram, all of which have over 2,000 <3′s. And if I’m really being totally H, I would guess that you neither have a juicer nor know what a juicer actually is. You don’t feel that guilty dropping a couple hundred dollars on a three-day juice cleanse though; it was on sale on Gilt. That money was your three-day Rubamba allowance anyway.
You wish you were Beyoncé. Let me clarify, you wish you were Beyoncé as Deena Jones as Diana Ross in Dreamgirls.
You’re willing to rent a Zip Car, drive to Branford for the afternoon, have an Eastern European woman stick a tube up your butt, all in the name of
*Okay, but contact email@example.com if you’ve ever gotten a colon cleanse. She would be infinitely down to have someone metaphorically hold her hair back for her first one.