I’m twenty-fucking-three. That is literally all the reason I need, but the list continues.
No pants? No problem.
I don’t have to feel things. Which, again, is reason enough.
I don’t have to ask permission to do anything. Even my mom tells me I’m 23 years old and I can do what I want.
My body is in peak condition, so if I have to take up stripping to pay off these student loans, it won’t be a problem.
I can be broke without someone’s help. Or their judgement.
My DVR, my bed, my food, and my hot water all share something in common: they are the only things I technically own in this world.
I can have activities without putting in the extra two cents of effort because I honestly couldn’t care less.
You can watch SportsCenter to your heart’s content.
Unlimited flirting potential with none of the commitment.
I get my way all the time. I don’t have to compromise on what movie we’re going to see or which restaurant we should eat at, etc.
My family knows I’m too poor to spend money on them so I don’t have to buy anyone anything ever. It’s great.
I can go out and get hit on without someone throwing a bitch fit.
I can politely ask my “friend” to leave after adult activities without feeling like an asshole about it.
I don’t necessarily have to clean my apartment if I don’t want to, which should probably be closer to the top of this list.
My phone doesn’t get blown up like crazy on a regular basis.
And I don’t have to babysit anyone after a night of heavy drinking.
Yes, I’m going to eat “all of that.”
I can masturbate. Whenever. I. Want. Without someone having a fucking complex about it.
I have full control of the remote, which means I can watch the UK game followed by
Sex and the City if I want. I can get blackout drunk and not have to explain myself or apologize to anyone.
And I don’t have to take anyone home to meet my parents, therefore never getting asked when I plan on getting married, or going home, for that matter.
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