Christmas is coming up. They say Christmas has to do with someone’s birthday.
I used to only care about Christmas if I got a tickle me elmo or a barbie doll.
Nowadays, all I care about is bribing some arm candy to pretend to be my boyfriend so my parents don’t keep asking me when my uterus is going to dry up before bearing offspring.
Okay, maybe they don’t quite ask me that bluntly, but it happens.
I’m still out a six pack for the arm candy, though.