The human condition isn’t pretty
The only hair on my head that is its original shade of brown is my mustache. The hair on top: dyed. Eyebrows: penciled in. But my mustache? Still going strong! Why do genetics hate us so much?
You’d think useless and socially problematic features like unibrows and hair growing on or inside ears would phase out of the human gene pool as we continue evolving, but NO! They hang on for generation after generation.
My husband recently told me my hair smelled like a goat. I don’t know how you would take it if your significant other said this to you, but as for me, I laughed uncontrollably for twenty minutes. After which a single tear formed at the corner of my eye as I thought back over a life lived without class. I momentarily wished I’d leaned into my femininity instead of refusing to wear high heels or lipstick, despising domesticity, and seeing how long I can go between hair washings before I develop a serious medical condition.
Laziness wins out for me every time. I’ve got more important things to do than comb my hair. OK – that’s not true, but even if I don’t, I wish that I did, which is basically the same thing. I’m sure I speak for us all when I say that I didn’t see a comb for two years during the pandemic.
I got so sick of brushing my teeth during quarantine. Even though it was just once a day, like everyone else (twice, if you’re anal), it felt like I was wasting the entire day at the sink caring for my teeth. Like it was always time to brush again. So boring! Don’t even get me started on showers; they’re the most boring of all.
By the way, I think some rebranding is in order for the anus. It’s a really unattractive word for your most unattractive body part. It’s an embarrassing word to say, probably even if you’re a doctor. I know they say a rose by any other name still smells as sweet, but an anus by any other name is an easier topic to tackle.
I think God made a design flaw with the human penis. No matter how one is presented to me, whether shriveled or erect, I feel like I’m looking at something I’m not mature enough to see. It just doesn’t look quite finished. It’s like when you’re driving behind another car, and you see that a part has come disconnected underneath and is dragging on the ground, and you’re like, “Ooh, that can’t be good!”
Lastly, I think feet are freakish. I pay someone else to care for mine, because that task is definitely best outsourced to the pros. My feet are so dry they make their own dandruff; so cracked, they’re constantly peeling. I have hair on my big toe knuckles, like a Hobbit. Jennifer Aniston would never allow her feet to fall into this state of disrepair. I know this because I once saw a photo of her in strappy sandals that boasted perfectly manicured toes, as soft and smooth as an infant’s tootsies. My feet could cure a man of his foot fetish in a hot second.
I’d do something to improve my condition, but I’ve got more important things to do.
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