Tripping the Plastic Fantastic
As I was logging into Blogger just now, I spotted "Erectile Dysfunction Treatments" on the scrolling list of just-updated blogs. It seems odd, to me. I can't imagine having a whole blog dedicated to just that one topic. I mean, the subject comes up now and again (just never when you want it to!) on mine, but if it were all you ever wrote about, it seems like you'd run out of material fairly quickly.
Or you'd damn well wish you had.
There's medical treatment for it. There's medical treatment for everything! At happy hour last night, my friend Kevin and I, admiring a ridiculously tiny purse-dog sported by a woman a couple of tables down, suddenly had our attention called to what happens when medical treatment for being hit by an ugly stick (or perhaps just a middle-aged stick) goes horribly wrong: the woman turned in our direction, and her lips were unnaturally huge and bloated and bright pink, and her eyes had a strange, tight look to them. She also had big, fake - um, fingernails.
We wondered why someone would do this. I mean, sure, you couldn't really have guessed her age by looking at her. But if an observer is also left with some question as to your actual species, you've gone a bit too far.
Food is just as bad. I don't insist on all organic foods, but have you ever noticed how many things on the market bear little to no resemblance to actual comestibles? Yet people willingly consume these things - Wonder Bread, Cool Whip, Velveeta, marshmallows, Spam, non-dairy creamer.
Let the record state that I've just officially invented the S'Less. You all better not forget it.
It just seems like the more fluff and vanity you add to life, the more you take it all for granted as a basic necessity. Not that I'm any less guilty of this than anyone else. But at least, by God, my fingernails are real.