I’m a 55-Year Old Divorcee: Part 112

Sarah Silverman just put my life to music. Just replace the lyrics “weed” with “wine” and “YouPorn” with “The Golden Girls.”

If you’re keeping a log of evidence as to why I’m really a 55 year-old divorced woman, here’s some more proof:

On Thursday, I turned down plans to drink alcohol with people my own age so I could stay in and watch The Office series finale while I had this audible crying fit that only a salt-and-pepper haired Michael Scott could trigger. This is something that hasn’t happened to me since The Nanny was cancelled when I was 11.  

Friday, I spent a couple hours doing a proper, full-body exfoliation and moisturizing treatment, then fell asleep on the couch watching 48 Hours. 

Finally, on Saturday I went out, and I felt like the spritely 24 year-old that I am. Until it came time to decide whether or not to sleep on the floor of the house I ended up in as 20- somethings are so wont to do. And although that floor or couch or bale of hay outside would have been equally as comfortable as the air mattress I was going home to, I ultimately decided that my overnight routine was not something I could just abandon. One night of neglecting to wash my face is not worth the week I would be paying for it– amiright, the cast of Hot in Cleveland?? Valerie Bertinelli knows exactly what I’m talking about.