Hopefully that will be the only time I use the word “crotch” in a blog headline. Such a strange word.
Moving on.
This afternoon’s rant brought to you by Kotex Sports Liner:
Women’s rights have really have come along way.
We’re allowed to vote.
We’re allowed to fight in combat (you know, so long as we’re not distracting the men with our pheromones and feminine wiles).
We’re allowed to make the heart-wrenching decision between staying at home with our children, working a full-time job or doing something in between while loaded with massive amounts of self-doubt no matter what choice we make, not to mention the judgment of others who think we’re either failing as mothers for going to work or failing as womyn for staying at home.
When we are at work, we’re allowed to make 77 percent of what our male counterparts make doing the same jobs.
We’re allowed to venture out in the world in whatever body we have and brace ourselves for comments behind our backs or to our faces about that body — if it’s too big it’s because we’re lazy pigs and if it’s too little it must be because we have an eating disorder, if it’s just right …. who are you kidding? It’s never just right. As a result we can’t look at food — a substance required to sustain our existence — without anxiety.
We’re allowed to feel beautiful. So long as every morning we shave our legs; shave our armpits; blow dry and style our hair; remove stray hairs from around our eyebrows, chins and upper lip; apply makeup; wear undergarments that makes our butts and breasts look perkier and disguises any unpleasant rolls (so long as nobody can tell that you’re wearing said undergarments — pantylines are not pretty); wear clothing that’s in style and flattering (but not too flattering lest we’re trying to advertise that we’re seeking the wrong kind of attention) and don heels that both elongate our too-short legs while hurting our already overloaded backs. If we feel we are not reaching an unattainable standard of beauty because our bodies insist on getting older, then we are allowed to inject ourselves to erase wrinkles and undergo surgery to suck out fat and reaffix any parts that have dared to succumb to gravity and inevitable aging processes by sinking from their youthful heights.
And now we’re allowed to workout — something that makes us healthier and stronger — so long as we wear fashionable, body-hugging workout gear and nobody can see the natural byproducts of our workout.
Of course, we’re also allowed to ignore the endless and often outrageous attempts of advertisers to sell us a lifestyle that’s not affordable, practical, realistic or fulfilling.
We’re allowed to retreat into our vacuum and accept ourselves and our bodies — by doing so it becomes less important to judge others.
And we’re allowed to celebrate each other as real people living real lives in a real world — not some fantasy dreamed up by someone whose bottom line is more important than your self-esteem.
In conclusion, don’t buy Kotex Sports Liners. Your crotch sweat is your business.