What I Say...What I mean.
I'll take care of that in ten minutes...I'm not going to touch this issue for at least two days.
The check is in the mail...It is not. Hell, it hasn't even been printed.
You don't have to buy me a drink, I'm just finishing up here...I wouldn't let you buy me a drink if you were the last man on Earth, or woman for that matter.
It's not that I don't like you...You make me want to vomit.
I need a drink...I need at least three to mask the stench that was today.
I need a shot...The IRS sent me a letter, I'm late, the ASPCA released a new commercial, etc.
Boychick...my most recent ex boyfriend. (My dad handed this one to me on a platter.)
You don't look fat...You do. Your doppleganger is a goddamn hippo.
I'll never drink again...What time is it?
Well folks it's time to call this quits, as translating everything I say to what I mean will probably leave me with half of my facebook friends and six to nine actual friends...Don't give a shit, enjoying a glass of wine.
Katie E. Eshelman