Lip Service

I was sipping my coffee, nosing around the internet when this was sent my way:

I do not believe the New York Post to be the most informative journalism. It falls somewhere between The Enquirer and Fox news in my book but I read anyway and was slightly horrified.

Where do I begin? Yeah, yeah, yeah…. I was babbling about getting “sprinkles” the other day but this is kind of disturbing and a lot exasperating. I’ve heard of women getting Cinderella surgery on their feet to better fit into their Louboutins. Which is reminiscent of foot binding and lotus shoes (I dare you to google it.) That is puzzling enough but this?

How is this not a form of self-mutilation? I won’t even take a razor to myself down there. I’d rather wax poetic with a stranger. You have seen that show Botched, haven’t you? I’m not so sure this is the kind of surgery that can be un-botched.

I see the headline and automatically thoughts are speeding over each other in my head:

Then I see the quote about Barbie….jinx. What the hell? No one should look like Barbie down there!

Noooooo, we haven’t come a long way if this is what we are resorting to. As I read the article I’m calling bullshit in my brain when they repeatedly say it’s often a matter of comfort. I’m thinking it’s a matter of appearance more than likely.

Your $98 yoga pants are making you feel bad about yourself so spending upwards of $5000 is the best option? So you are making a possibly life altering decision based on a pair of overpriced pants made by a company founded by this guy.How about maybe we just redesign those yoga pants instead of resorting to voluntary genital mutilation.

You know what’s wrong with yoga pants? They are not designed for women’s bodies. It’s that seam. That unseemly seam is the problem:

If we are so worried about the dreaded DD (dromedary digit aka camel toe) then why do we have a seam going straight down the middle that accentuates the female anatomy?

Here’s another thing to think about. Men would never resort to taking a scalpel to their junk because they didn’t think they were small enough, pretty enough or enough enough. They most definitely wouldn’t go under the knife because of some moose knuckle or VPL action. Either they’d display it proudly or they’d resort to more comfortable pants without regard of how they looked (cargo pants, I’m talking to you.)

Men are overly proud of their bits no matter what they look like! In fact they are so proud that they have no qualms about sending pictures of their jolly rodgers to random people as the stories of Tinder/Grinder/Snapchat/Politics confirm. We need to be that proud of our bits ladies! We should be d**kpic proud! Although, lets draw the line at taking pictures of our nethers and sending them to people’s cellphones.

A vulva is like a fingerprint, they are unique to their owners and no one can tell you that it’s wrong. If you are unduly worried that its appearance hinders your sex life, I don’t recall anytime in history did a straight man look at a vagina and think….”no, just no.”

So ladies, enough of the madness. Embrace your differences and be #d**kpic proud! In the meantime, enjoy the oddly relaxing art that is The Great Wall of Vagina:

Sprinkles Please!

Yes, I want sprinkles.

No, not those kind of sprinkles.

Getting close but not quite….

Close enough.

Sprinkles. Usually when you think sprinkles you think of the little crunchy, festive orbs of sugar that make your cupcake or ice cream THAT much better. Not in this case.

I’m talking about the “sprinkles” that the actress Robin Wright referred to in an interview. When asked about her appearance she attributed it to getting “sprinkles.” Sprinkles, in this case, being strategic and light handed injections of Botox or its equivalent.

It’s not so much that I want to look younger. I had a complete stranger turn around while he was making his popcorn order and tell me, “I just had to say, you look beautiful tonight.” To which, I said… “Thank you!” then quickly left it at that because my go to is usually some form of a this-old-thing-ism. As I write this, I’m thinking about how low-lit the lobby is and…….you know the rest. *sigh*

So if it’s not youth I’m after then what? How about not wanting to look so bedraggled. You know how you see some people and instantly think, “she/he has had a rough life?” I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that thought.

Then again, do I really want to find self-satisfaction in a needle? Shouldn’t I just be okay with how I look?

Did you see Frances McDormand at the Emmy awards? She instantly became a hero in my eyes. Hair looked like she rolled out of bed, little makeup if any….. the epitome of “I don’t give two f***ks……”

“but I did win two emmys! So suck it Hollywood.” At least that’s kinda how my acceptance speech would go.

I think I also worry about what kind of message am I sending my girls? I want them to be comfortable in their own skin and be proud of who they are inside and out. Am I a fraud if I choose to cheat time with a needle?

What if there were Kardashian kind of consequences? Would my beautiful little baby girl decide that her natural born looks weren’t good enough at 18?

Come to think of it, the future is a scary place if it’s filled with plumped up lips and unemotional visages. Like a Real Housewives of OCNYATLBH reunion.

I think I’ll shelve the needle for the time being. I have way more important things to think about………like choosing a Halloween costume. Should I go as sexy santitation worker…..sexy lunch lady….sexy crime scene cleaner? Apparently you can sexify anything these days.

Actually, I’m thinking of going this direction:

That’s more like it. Max who?