I use that phrase a lot. It tickles me to say such a thing in a scandalized voice when, for instance, my sister asks whether I want to go to a NASCAR-themed baby shower for my second cousin. I do not. Although, to be fair, that kind of a theme does seem to suggest it might be the rare baby shower where alcohol is served. It’d be Bud Light, though, as sure as you’re born.

I’m not really a jerk, I swear: she’s my second cousin, after all, and we’re not at all close. Plus it’d be, like, an hour and a half drive. These are all totally valid excuses. Totally. Valid. I’m really not a jerk. Also, I hate baby showers. But that’s hardly relevant.

I am not the kind of girl who plans Easter egg hunts. I am not. It’s tomorrow.