Hello
What?
Good morning
Why are you talking to me?
Please
I may sweat on you.
Thank you
I’m trying to appreciate you here, but this insatiable quest for praise makes me legit bananas, and it has absolutely nothing to do with hormones.
Do you have any rooms?
My fertility has left the building.
What time is it?
I wish Viggo Mortensen were here.
Where is the bathroom?
I just want to be alone, maybe forever, but right now I have to do something about the pit stains on my blouse.
How much?
I only wear mom jeans now.
Where is the train station?
I wish I were on a train with Viggo Mortensen.
Excuse Me… (request)
Get out of my way.
Excuse Me? (inquiry)
I finally finished my period and now I have to worry about my twelve year-old vaping?
Table for one, please.
Is that Idris Elba at the bar?
Yes, I did say, "one."
Anyway, I just want the wine list. And the dessert menu.
Do you have this in another size?
I’m not sure when this started happening to my boobs, but if we could both pretend it’s not, that might be best.
Could you repeat that?
It’s possible that in addition to my cognitive and reproductive abilities, my hearing is also suddenly on the outs. Being a woman isn’t fair. I’m going to cry (again).
My head is killing me.
Please don’t make me have sex.
I need to see the doctor.
If you tell me the next opening is in May, I will show up tomorrow claiming I definitely had an appointment, then make a huge scene in front of your unsuspecting co-workers’ birthday lunch celebration at Chipotle.
My back is killing me.
Please don't make me have sex.
Is this the right dosage?
I think we both know you’re going to re-write that prescription.
Which aisle is “feminine care?”
I know I was here last week, and I probably asked you the same thing, but I haven’t bled like this since I was sixteen and have I mentioned that it’s totally unfair.
There’s leftover chicken and half a burrito in the fridge.
Why do you ask me daily if I’ve “thought about dinner?” Have you “thought about dinner?” I think about dinner every day, just not your dinner.
Can you look at my bunion and see if there's a splinter in there?
Please don't make me have sex.
I’m thirsty.
Are we out of tequila? We’d better not be out of tequila.
I’m sorry.
Why are you in my house?
I love you.
Don’t worry. This is only going to last another two to eight years.