The Pants Rant

pants
It’s official: I hate pants.

Last week contained a long stretch of subzero days. So did the week before. Heeeey, week before that, too. (And it’s getting kinda OLD, Minnesota, any chance you could knock it the eff off?) I don’t have far to walk in the bitter, biting, soul-disintegrating cold, but after a certain number of snot-freezing days in a row, I give up. I tire of dealing with the freezing knees and breeze-tickled ladyparts that come part and parcel with winter skirt wearage. After a certain number of snot-freezers in a row, I will resort to pants. Silk long underwear and heavy duty pants-pants.

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The Industry

marketing ads body image

“Every woman dreams of having longer, fuller, thicker lashes.”

So proclaimed a voice that echoed forth from the mondo flatscreen as I bounced along on my stair climber at the gym. And I thought, “Not true. I don’t dream of having longer, fuller, thicker lashes. And I’m a woman.”

And then I thought, “Hm. But maybe I should consider mascara. Would I look better if I learned to apply and wear it? Do I look like a stumpy-lashed weirdo¬†now, and not even realize it?”

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