Monday, March 27, 2017

March 27, 2017

Dear Diary,

As hard as I've fought for the rights of women around the world, I can't for the life of me figure out why it only takes a couple of stupid bitches careless airline passengers to fuck things up set the cause back for everyone else.  I was right in the middle of my sponge bath when Bessie told me about two young women who were booted off of a United airlines flight for wearing those legging things instead of the kind of clothes that civilized white normal people wear.

Personally, I don't understand why women wear those legging things anyway.  The only ones who wear them seem to be Amy Schumer body doubles who look like potatoes shrink-wrapped in polyester.  Seriously, what are these women thinking?  I have my own experiences with cellulite and I can tell you that the go-to strategy on that one is to hide it, not flaunt it.  Believe me, nobody wants to stare at a woman with so many folds that you can't tell where the elastic bands end and the camel toe begins.  Things don't look so great from the back, either, when your only hope is distracting people with the word "JUICY" spread across your cheeks.  It doesn't work.

It's icky.  And more than icky, it's just low class.

Speaking of class, Chel tells me that a lot of women wear those legging things to her yoga class, but if you ask me, all that bending and stretching doesn't seem to do much other than costing fifty bucks an hour.  What's the point of being flexible if you still look like you're being chased by a sack of basketballs?  The whole thing is lost on me.  You could do all that stuff at home and all you'd be missing is a little faggot with a man-bun an instructor chanting "Namaste!" with a fake Indian accent and unvalidated parking.  I feel more comfortable working out at home, near my kitchen. It's more private and convenient.  Plus, I've never heard of a yoga studio with a fridge packed with chocolate cake and Frappucinos.

Dr. Morell says I should give yoga a try, but I think it's still a bit early for that because I still have trouble keeping my balance.  Ever since I gave up the bedpan, Bessie has to walk me to the bathroom, but she won't stay in there with me when I do a Number Two.  She says it's to give me my privacy, but Bessie doesn't always tell the truth.  One time, we had run out of air freshener and she gave me my privacy for a whole hour because it was too cold to open the window. It took that long for the place to air out.

Maybe Dr. Morell has a point.  Maybe yoga would help me get centered, make me calmer and more reassuring.  That might help my public image a lot and probably cut down on those children's screaming in the basement of that pizza place when I visit.

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