May 01 2011
Greetings, Cool Peeps:
Aren’t sun umbrellas, or parasols if you will, lovely? They’re so feminine and quaint. Some are works of art in themselves, while some are painted in works of art. Like this famous painting by Georges Seurat.
I’m a big advocate of using sunscreen. My moisturizer has SPF in it, and I do not want the sun’s harmful rays causing damage to my skin, giving me skin cancer, or aging me prematurely.
Swansea, my hometown, is filled with over-tanned, deep-fried peeps who maintain their bronzy look all year round. When they’re not catching rays directly from the sun, they head over to the nearest salon to bake in those coffins with lights that some people call tanning beds. Of course, one of the most egregious offenders is Naomi Hall-Benchley, the She-Devil. She maintains her tan just to look good for the cameras that capture her image regularly for the society columns. She is always posing and always tanning, thus explaining why the girls at the salon call her the “glazed ham.” Oh, am I being catty? I hadn’t noticed. Anyway, I’m never sure what will crack first: her façade or her face. Moving right along . . .
I am a woman who wants to preserve her skin. I’ll do what is necessary. If I have to wear a sun hat, I’ll find a stylish one and put it on my head. (Yes, I’ll risk having hat hair later.) But peeps, are you listening? You will never see me walking down the streets with a sun umbrella. Are you freakin’ kidding me? The only umbrella I will ever use is the kind made to repel raindrops from fallin’ on my head.
If you use a sun umbrella, please forgive my rant. I know they’re perfectly accessible and utilitarian for some peeps, just not yours truly. Listen, I freak out if I see a parasol in my drink. But then again, I’m a wine drinker, so that assault to my sensibilities is a rarity. I’m just not into tiki tikis or mai tais. And, gosh, if a man is into those kinds of drinks, I’m probably not gonna be into him, either. Just sayin’.
Let me get back to Seurat’s painting. You don’t have to be an art expert to notice that the women are wearing bustles. Holy big butt, Batman! There’s a reason these nifty accessories turned at the corner of Obsolescence Lane and No Freakin’ Way, rarely to be seen again. For the same reason you never see advertisements for thigh enhancements. Duh.
Trust me, if there had been a McDonald’s back in the day, no one on the Seine River’s La Grande Jatte would have needed a bustle.
Just because something exists doesn’t mean we should use it. Let me whisper two words in your ear: pocket protector. No, make it three: FREAKIN’ POCKET PROTECTOR. Thought they were dead and buried?
So did I, until I saw three men in one month using them. Then I Googled them. They’re for sale everywhere, alive and well in the digital age.
Unless you’re a card-carrying (and proud of it) spazz, get rid of that stupid piece of plastic you’re putting in your shirt pocket to protect it from those cheap pens you use.
Just as I suggest that women find alternatives for sun umbrellas, I suggest men do the same for pocket protectors. Have you noticed that the men with the most expensive, tailor-made shirts are the least likely to ever wear a pocket protector? Ladies, when have you seen a really hot guy with a pocket protector? Probably the last time you saw oil and water mix.
So peeps, what do you think of sun umbrellas and pocket protectors? What other products in existence do you think should say goodbye to humanity?
See you next week.
Yours in pickiness,