Juvenality

Happy Evacuation Day to both of my readers. (Here in Cambridge, we don't celebrate St. Patrick's day. Instead we take the day off of work and drink copious amounts of green beer in honor of the British evacuating from Dorchester Harbor in 1776. It has nothing to do with St. Patrick's day. At all.)
Anyway, today, I don't want to evacuate anything. Instead, I want to come clean to both of you.
Last week, my dear reader, I discovered a rather unsavory tidbit about myself. A tidbit I wanted to hide. A blog is about honesty, though, and so I must be truthful in all of my internet-related endeavors.*
The truth is, my loyal readers, I am a juvenile delinquent.
"That couldn't be!" you must be thinking, "Abbie is a bastion of morality, with her love of children and happy sorority fun times! She can't be a delinquent! No sirree!"
Unfortunately, it's true. Vogue told me.


"But Abbie, what does that say?" Loyal reader, here is the gist of it:


See, two years ago, in an effort to save some money, I decided to stop buying magazines at the newsstand and subscribe to them all instead. Problem was, I could never remember which ones I had subscribed to and which ones I hadn't, so I often ended up buying copies of every magazine I read. Usually on the very day that the magazine came in the mail. Needless to say, this was the most economical of all behaviors, and so this year, I decided not to renew my subscriptions. I figured Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, and the others would get the hint when I didn't send in a check.
But they didn't. Instead, the called me names.



*except when detagging ugly pictures from facebook. I firmly believe in letting facebook think that I am a beautiful rose all the time. And also that I never lose my balance at the same time that I coincidentally happen to be drunk. EVEN THOUGH THEY HVE NOTHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER, MAXWELL LUSCIOUS.