-- unnecessary feminine hygeine products. I, for one, am fond of my vagina, and am finding myself increasingly incensed at the suggestion perpetuated by the media and various companies that said orifice is a hideous, festering maw. feminine deodorant spray (a/k/a under-leg deodorants)? come on. Just shower. suds your muff up what good, and there should be no problems. feminine wipes? lord almightly. do I really need antibacterial treatment applied to a part of my anatomy that has a very delicate ph balance and internal culture? I think not. And, my new favourite, just discovered today: dissolving, deodorant/cleansing sheets. You know those little green listerine sheets that you put on your tongue to freshen your breath? the kind that bore holes in your soft palate with their minty intensity? they make them for vaginas. I saw them with my own eyes at the Super Drug Mart. Personally, I think my vagina has fine breath, feels quite fresh enough on its own, and is not in need of any such product, minty-tingly as it may be. Really, folks, lets not make women any more terrified of their own body parts.
--ever-shrinking clothing sizes. Alright. I am going to be very honest. I am 5'2" and weigh somewhere between 125 and 128 lbs, depending on how much pie I have eaten recently. I consider myself attractively plump. I am somewhere around a size 7 -- I have some things that are a size 5, some things that are a size 9, but some variation is to be expected. I have a 28" waist. I think I am still a pretty small person. Nonetheless, I am find that when I go shopping, my sizes are some of the biggest sizes that are out on the racks. I can find 000 pants no problem, and the 1s and 3s are aplenty, but where are the pants for me? either in the back (where I was once told in a store that rhymes with Lacobs that's where they kept anything over a 6 because they were "borderline plus sizes"), or absent altogether. I am...unthrilled. Either we as a gender collectively need to eat more starches and things with gooey centers, or all you anorexia-inducing retail bastards are going to feel the wrath of me and my ample booty.
--fake milk products. Sour cream tastes like a soybean fart if it is less than 14%. Low- or Non-fat yogurt may as well be liquified styrofoam. Seriously. The last time I ate some, I could feel it give that unholy styro-squeak between my teeth. Cheese is one of the reasons I came to this planet, dairy clench be damned, and I refuse to see my beloved foodstuffs of milky-cheesy-creamy goodness degraded in suck a fashion. Everything is better with butter, and scones only become heavenly when made with double or heavy cream. Make things that taste better accessible.
--all commercials for the new burger king enormous omelette breakfast sandwich. especially the one, in describing how gigantic it is, ascribes the faux-adjectives "eggnormous; meatnormous; cheesenormous." That's...a lot of normous for breakfast. Also, I have yet to see a BK spell 'omelette' correctly on any of their billboards around town, which makes me want to stab things.
-- lying coffee bastards. There is a certain coffee shop rhyming with Becond Fup, that has advertised on their menu a product called vanilla bean hot chocolate. It is specifically stipulated that this product is flavoured with genuine vanilla bean from madagascar (which I have; it is *fantastic*). However, when my hot chocolate was being made, there was no delicate scrape of vanilla bean added, not a drop of extract. Instead, a generous squirt of vanilla flavoured syrup (which tastes like the morning-after vomit of an unde ripe vanilla bean) was splooged into the bottom of my cup, ruining what was left of my mood.
-- perfume bandits. Personally, I don't understand the whole scenting one's self into unnrecognizeability. I like milk and honey body wash and a spritz of somethign fruity as much as the next girl, but I'd also like to smell like a human being. What I do not understand are those who apply half a friggin bottle of whatever their stink of choice is and then get into cramped social situations, like, say, a crowded bus, and proceed to allow eye-watering fumes of migraine-inducing fug to billow off them. No one needs that much perfume or cologne. I promise you. Put the bottle down. Do not bathe in it. If you keep burning my nostril hair out of my head, I will assign you a smell buddy to check you before you leave the house. If you try and leave smelling like that, you will be tasered.
-- tanorexia. Listen. Fabutan may be a spectacular word, but nobody needs to be that brown. If the cancer doesn't scare you, doesn't the idea of preternatural wrinkles? Tanning is also what is done to hide to turn it into leather, you know. think on that. Even worse, though, are the bad faux-tans. Whether spray-on or slather-on, you end up looking like a carrot. Though I enjoy a good giggle at all the oompa-loompas sashaying about, this is really getting out of hand.
--spray on pantyhose. I hate pantyhose to begin with (I went barelegged at my wedding and once got into a huge fight with a boss over a dress code that made them mandatory), and while this would seem like an alternative...come on. We're spackling out legs. My legs have pores, which I don't think would appreciate being airbrushed. Let sanity win just this once.
That is all...for now. mwa ha.