Not to do a complete 180 on my audience - wait, yes, because that's exactly how my blogs always go - and go all vagina monologues on your ass, but when the fuck did "fresh" mean code for "YOUR VAGINA SMELLS, HERE LET ME FIX THAT."
I'm fucking serious though. Maybe it's because I'm reading a little book called Cunt and am currently doing my full-on "let's synch with the moon, my body is one with the universe" type bullshit but I am fucking raging over the fact that every single time I buy "sanitary" items I fucking have to learn a new language that involves stylized flowers and ambiguous adjectives written in pink cursive. Why not just explicitly say "perfumed" or "goddamn vaginas are so fucking gross, I wish women looked like Barbies down there."
I take offense that I have to search out the word "unscented" as if I'm some sort of deviant dirty hippie for wanting to stray from the norm of making my vagina smell like fucking grain alcohol, which is exactly what fresh smells like to Always.
Just a question: since my vagina is basically likened to a bloody, festering gash, where's the butterfly-print, perfumed for my pleasure surgical gauze for when I actually have a bloody, festering gash? Oh wait, no, those are fine and permissible. Injuries are accidents, unforeseeable, not my fault. Being a woman is an egregious offense.
In related news, the Women's Studies department thinks I need to have a more communal experience - because all my friends aren't WS majors and I'm not in a goddamn queer campus group - and because of this I probably won't be able to get a little validating piece of paper that says "Cara did far more credits than she even fucking needed to, here's a degree for that."
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