Sorority Girls With Guns Read Online Free PDF Page A

they’ll be okay without me for a couple weeks.”
    “ Then we’re all going to South Padre and switching places,” I say, making sure to get a good shot of my face with my phone.
    Chapter Four
    There are disadvantages to being a vegetarian. People call you a treehugger, a dirty hippie, a carrot-killer. They tell you your diet is unhealthy when they have more health problems than you can count on both hands. An idiot frat boy once told me it was impossible to get enough protein without eating meat, but when asked, he couldn’t tell me how much protein he should be getting in a day, or how much protein he had eaten at his last meal.
    Another guy, who was about five-foot-three and about as wide as he was tall, informed me that every vegetarian he’d ever known eventually ended up looking sickly. This was a guy who couldn’t walk from his car to the door of the student union without panting like a dog. And he always parked as close to the door as possible, and walked at the pace of a turtle on valium. I told  him that if being sickly meant being able to walk twenty feet without gasping for breath, I was all for it.
    But there are a lot more advantages to a vegetarian diet than disadvantages. No one ever steals food marked “vegetarian” or “tofu” out of a shared refrigerator. I’ve never had to walk into a drug store and ask where the laxatives are (I’ve seen people do this, and it looks super uncomfortable, although I’m not sure if that’s from the constipation or the embarrassment). I don’t get sick, so I don’t have any medical bills, which means I can spend all my money on truly important stuff like shoes, clothes and Hello Kitty memorabilia.
    As it turns out, there is another distinct advantage: When you’re perusing a menu for the cheapest items, salad usually tops the list.
    All six of us – Morgan, Tiffany, Richard, Me, Matt, Charlie, – are kicking off the Month of Hell (as Charlie dubbed it) by eating dinner together. Richard says this will be a great wake-up call for “those who don’t know how the other ninety-six percent live”.
    “ I’ll have the sirloin steak, with the smothered baked potato on the side,” Charlie is telling the waiter. “And can I get extra cheese, butter and everything else you smother the potato in?”
    “ Sure, that’ll be a dollar extra.” The waiter scribbles on his Ipad. Yes, this is an expensive enough restaurant that the waiters have Ipads. You’d think Richard would have said something when Matt suggested we eat here, but he didn’t. He’s probably smirking on the inside, dimples be damned.
    The what-are-you-ordering chatter around the table dies down and everyone looks at Charlie. He’s kind of a burly guy, with dark curly hair and a face that would look a lot better if he either grew a full beard or shaved regularly. The five o’clock shadow just doesn’t do anything for him. “What?” he asks, looking around the table. “It’s only a dollar .”
    “ But your steak is $15, and your beer was $5. And that’s just the first one – the refill is another $3,” Richard peers over the top of his menu. I’m now convinced he’s hiding behind it to hide his dimples/smirk.
    “ So another dollar doesn’t make a difference either way.” Charlie closes his menu and hands it to the waiter, who’s getting this look on his face like he’s not sure he’s going to get a decent tip on this table. Usually I get that look when I spend ten minutes ordering because I’m a picky eater and a vegetarian (I always tip well, however, for that very reason – I know I’m a pain-in-the-ass customer.
    “ No, the dollar doesn’t, but I think the point is to reduce your spending overall,” Matt says, scratching his head. I can tell he’s trying to remember what the fuck we learned in ECON 101. We had this professor who, when he noticed a student sleeping, would walk right up to the offender and continuing lecturing - with his voice set on stun. Let’s just