My kids are cranky and sleep-deprived thanks to this week’s dad-blasted, con-sarned @&#$% time change. Is it just me, or is it a royal pain in the ass to get used to? I’m adjusting okay but the kids are staying up until 11 p.m., miserable demons the next day.
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I know I’m going to offend all my female friends and relatives with what I’m about to say, but I’ve been holding back all these years and it’s time to come clean. I think that any woman who is over 25 years old and/or weighs more than 100 pounds should be legally forbidden to wear pedal pusher pants. They’re flattering on too few people; even lithe models look like they’re expecting a flood or couldn’t find anything to fit their long legs (I’m not jealous–my pants have a 34 inseam). And those clam-diggers shorten and broaden the female figure, so if it’s already a little short and broad it looks even more so. It’s a victimless crime, I know, but an affront to my aesthetic sensibilities. And what’s the benefit? Keeping your ankles cooler? This morning in 40 degree weather I saw a lovely young woman, slim and attractive, with those short pants over high heels and pantyhose. And when will this trend pass? It’s been years now. Enough already.
Another pet peeve is the invention of venetian blinds. I know that like pedal pusher pants they are wildly popular, but I find them infuriating to operate. They never do what I want them to do, whether it’s going up or going down. And they’re a bitch to clean, the slats bend easily and stay bent, and the strings strangle a child to death every two weeks (more than 157 since 1995).
Calendars whose little nail holes continually rip are another, less serious aggravation, as are toaster ovens, with their planned obsolescence. I like the idea of toaster ovens, and use mine several times a day, but it seems like every single one I buy is a piece of crap and has to be replaced every year or two.
And then there’s people who don’t allow children at their weddings. They’re hurting no one but the parents, I guess, but I think a wedding is a significant celebration of a major life transition. I mean birth, marriage and death are pretty elemental to most of our lives. Why exclude certain generations at your wedding? What’s next, no one over sixty-five?
And don’t get me started about:
–How you can have 20,000 pens around your house and not a single one works.
–Things with suction cups that never stick to anything for longer than five seconds.
–Books with ink that’s not black.
–People who consider their bowel function an interesting conversational topic.
–25 single socks. Where the hell are their mates? I mean really, where are they?
–Retailers who clear out all their seasonal inventory way too early, so if your kid needs fuzzy slippers or snow boots in January or if you need some more sunscreen or a lawn chair in June you’re just shit out of luck.
