If I was president, I’d be like, “No more ‘days of the week.’ You decide whatever day you want it to be is. You can have two Mondays or no Mondays. That’s none of my business. Sort it out on your own.”
If I was a teenager, I would be goth half of the time and a short shorts wearing hipster goddess the other half.
If I was married, I would throw twenty dollars in my husband’s face as soon as he walked in the door and say, “Go to Greenblatt’s and get me a take out order of pickles but make sure they’re not too green and if they are too green, make them open another jar.”
If I was Judy Jetson, I’d be so happy.
If I went back in time, I would have dated that really nice Southern guy who asked me out Freshman year who I thought I was too cool for. He had a great smile and was in finance, which would have been helpful when I was in my early 20s.
If I’d been thinking, I would have DVR’d “Gallery Girls” on Bravo when I first heard of it.
If I’d only work hard enough, I could quit life and move to New York to live amongst books and cats and small dogs.
If I spent more time with my friends, I’d be less upset about every other part of my life.
If I wasn’t so concerned about being thirty in a year an a half, I’d dye the ends of my hair teal.
If I wasn’t afraid of being fat, I’d order Indian food for dinner.
If I cleaned out my closet, I probably wouldn’t die.
If I spent more time with my dog, I’d stop feeling like he deserves a better life.
