I’m not sure who decided that scented oil plug-ins were a good idea, but I’d like to talk to them. For hours. With some car battery cables and a pair of pliers. Dude! Really?
Our office cleaning staff and/or landlord got the bright idea of adding such a device to the ladies room. We were so lucky. It was one of those super fancy dual scented ones; the kind that are simpatico with each other and give the whole aroma package. I didn’t catch the name of each particular fragrance or the theme per se so I can only offer my perception of what they were probably called. One side must have been called dead deer left to rot in July until you can visually identify each rib and the other was asparagus forgotten in crisper bin until liquefied. Other than the occasional use by some random man who clearly could not discern the difference between ladies and gentlemen leaving the toilet seat up, there haven’t been so many issues that would require the installation of the migraine-inducing deodorizer. I walked into our office building and began to smell it from one floor down. By the second floor my nose was twitching like a rabbit sensing danger. By the top of the stairs, my eyes were watering and I put a hex on our cleaning staff.
Scent is a funny thing. I used to work with a woman who loved Angel perfume. She loved it a lot. She loved it so much that I once watched a chipmunk die of asphyxiation in the parking lot when she and her private/notsoprivate cloud of odeur walked by. The perfume and cosmetic industries are making a lot of money for producing what is essentially another “lack” that we women believe we have.
Don’t have dark, long, doe-eyed, reach your eyebrow length eyelashes?
Lack – Here’s mascara, eye lash extensions and/or dye. Because putting caustic chemicals on your eyeballs for beauty is a win/win I say!
Don’t have hairless legs because genetically you weren’t built with the same hair lacking gene as a Sphynx cat?
Lack – Depilatory, wax, epilator, razor…laser
Don’t have hair that perpetually smells like jasmine petals?
Lack – here’s a “hair perfume” – I SHIT YOU NOT
I don’t have the time to put forth all of the things that we subscribe to in an effort to attain perfection.
It’s our boogeyman. Not being pretty is the female boogeyman.
We need things to be aesthetically pleasing. It’s ingrained from such a young age that we can’t even begin to separate from it. It’s why we have things like motifs and a spray that makes poop smell like you’re farting roses and floral patterned Tupperware. We’re programmed to put pretty into everything. We are so caught up in pretty that effectively we can abide by utilitarian. Even our junk undies must be pretty and covered with paisley unicorns to make us feel more feminine. We have these conversations that when reduced, boil down to one thing.
I feel like shit
But you look pretty
I told him you were really smart
So he’ll think I’m not pretty?
She graduated magna cum laude
Must not be pretty
She got the promotion
Only because she’s pretty
My husband and I just split up and I want all the ice cream ever made NOW!
Don’t worry! One day you’ll meet your prince. Besides overeating isn’t pretty.
The sky could be raining fire a la Sodom and Gomorrah with basketball sized chunks brimstone pounding the Earth in a biblical hellfire frenzy and girls would be checking to make sure that nothing is stuck in our teeth because when we hip pop and smile pretty for God we want to make sure there’s no damn spinach stuck in our toofums.
For boys it’s so much simpler. They don’t worry about being the best looking or if their lashes are noticeable behind their glasses. They don’t have to justify they’re intellect if they get a promotion. They have simpler fears – like the deep hidden deep seeded belief that their wiener will fall off if not held 3 times per minute. Wee baby child is starting. He turns five next week. I see the future. Before his bath he’ll just grab onto it and hold it for dear life as if to assure it that it won’t melt in lukewarm bathwater. He went to throw out his juicebox…same thing. Clearly it had to be reassured that it was the empty container being tossed aside as useless trash, not his little buddy.
Last week he slapped his own bare butt in front of our company – actually it was directed at our company.
There are certain anatomical features I’ve had all my life, but I’m secure that even whilst hidden in undergarments that those features will still be there when I disrobe. I’ve never once said the words, “Where did I leave little Muffy now? I must’ve left her in the fitting room at Macy’s. Damn it! How will I explain this one to Magilla?” It’s never happened. Never.
I’m not saying woman are better than men (yes I am). I’m not saying women are more rational (we are). My husband likes to inform me of my less than spectacular moments. He likes to point out when I’m a little, shall we say, vocal. I merely offer up the notion that while women tend to be driven by emotions and hormones and the occasional chocolate overload, we know where everything on our person is and we are confident it will remain there unless otherwise negotiated. So while I’ve heard a time or two from our male counterparts that we’re crazy….
Pretty? Wiener theft? Pretty? Wiener theft?