NSFW: Thoughts for March 28

As I’m sure the case was for most of you, the weekend was far too short. I’m now faced with a Monday morning with the following thoughts racing through my brain:

  1. Why God Why? This is a given. It’s 7:00am on a Monday, and I am already in an office surrounded by work and the assorted debris of a life not quite reaching its potential.
  2. How long does it take for toenail polish to wear off on its own? It’s pretty self-explanatory. If I were a precise girl, my toenails would always be pristinely polished and buffed to a light sheen (as in glow, not Charlie). But I’m not a precise girl, so I am currently conducting a science experiment in which I refuse to remove the flaking polish and redo them. Ok, perhaps it isn’t so much of an experiment, as it is a testament to how lazy I am. Also, who is looking at my feet? Nobody. Ergo, no need to contort myself in order to make “breakfast in bed” re-appear on my feet. Side question—who names nail polish? Can I do this job? I think I could do this job.
  3. My birthday balloon is mocking me. I have a Mylar balloon in my office that was given to me to extol the virtues of my slow decline. There were two smaller, standard balloons with it. Those, much like hope for my love life, died a while ago, but the gigantic one is still proudly erect and swaying over my head. My reaction should be something akin to a warm glow at the lovely gesture meant to celebrate my life. Instead, I think I’m going to have to stab it.
  4. Twatoo-ing. What the hell are you people doing to yourselves? My horror at the concept was only matched by the hilarity that ensued when someone over the weekend tried to explain this to me. I’m a literal person, so when someone said, “inside the vajayjay,” I thought they meant inside the body cavity itself. I couldn’t stop picturing some dude with a mining helmet and headlight going in with a tattoo needle. And how big is that cavern anyway? And who sees that? Is it a special message to your gynecologist? Thank goodness for T, who discreetly mouthed “labia” at me. Huh. Naturally, Sadie has a friend who has done it, and her tattoo reads “hope” in Chinese characters. Awww! That’s sweet, but I think we can all agree that those Chinese characters probably actually say, “Free delivery with an order of more than $10.” Also, when someone refers to a “tramp stamp” in the future, I will not be thinking about a lower back tattoo. Please tell me this is not another wave of the future. Because if I have to experience deforestation, anal bleaching, vajazzling and get “Promise Land” tattooed inside the zone (Sadie’s twatoo of choice) in order to get a man interested in having sex with me, I’m out. I’m just done. I’ve already got one foot inside a convent, and I really think I’d rather take the veil than deal with this.
  5. I wonder what kind of spam mail I’ll get now that I’ve had to look up how to spell “twatoo.”

P.S. For those wondering, mine would probably read:

  • Keep Out
  • By Invitation Only
  • Coat and Tie Required

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