I can’t stand body maintenance.
I am so tired of tweezing and plucking and pulling and washing and shaving and destinking and blotting and covering and moisturizing.
It’s even worse in the summer. I’m the kind of person who works up a sweat just getting a glass of water, so heat and humidity are very taxing on me. The last thing I feel like doing on top of all the other routine maintenance is adding an extra shower and deodorizing session just so that I can walk among other members of society.
It frightens me how much I’m beginning to empathize with hippies.
Men – when you look at a woman, no matter how attractive, it’s likely that she’s failing miserably at at least one of the above tasks. There just isn’t enough time in the day to constantly monitor every one of them. Think about it.
Once we’ve traded hair for grumpiness and discomfort, we have to moisturize. Because we don’t want to get flappy or saggy or ashy or wrinkly. So we moisturize. We do it at our desks, we do it after the shower, and we do it at night. Serious followers will even wear booties and mittens to bed with lotion all inside them. Because magazines and TV and adultery make us absolutely crazy and we sometimes feel like if we don’t wear lotion mittens to bed, no one will love us.
Lord, I would have appreciated being a boy.
The next step is a good high maintenance routine. Hair, face, fingernails, toenails. All of it has to be shellacked with something or other or we will wander the streets as pig beasts, frightening all those around us and causing us to remain indoors until we have enough layers of Spackle on our faces to negate whichever few natural beauties we had when we began.
We have to sleep enough. We can’t cry before bed or our eyes will be puffy and we’ll wake up looking like Senator Palpatine. We have to drink lots of water. We can’t eat things we enjoy without regret and constant talk of self-hate.
And the real kicker is that all of it wears off. All of it. Moisturizer, makeup, hair removal – everything must be repeated. Over and over and over again until we die. Women are crazy, yes. They’re out of our minds. Absolutely. These are all the things we have to do simply because we were born women. Personally, I can’t take it anymore. I might throw in the towel.
Call the hippies. Tell them I’m coming. ♣