Today's official subtitle is Don't Shoot the Messenger. Just sayin'.
As if women don't have enough stupid shit to worry about, someone, somewhere decided at some point that vaginas just weren't good enough for them. That they needed improvements.
That's not to say that I'm against trimming the hedges now and again; it seems like a pretty reasonable courtesy to extend to your esteemed guests. Varying degrees of defoliating the grounds, well, if that's your thing, have at 'er. But, um... this?
other colours as well. The orange one seems totally legit to me, but purple? Green? Brown? Who'd'a thunk it?
And then there's this...
Yes, that says "Vajazzle". As if vaginas weren't interesting enough in the first place, and high-impact signage was the way to fix the issue. Like it's frigging Vegas down there or something. Next thing you know we'll have twinkle lights, maybe with a handy 12V cigarette lighter adapter that you simply pop in to the nearest available "socket" - wouldn't that be the invention of the century.
And then... then it starts to get really weird. Then it starts to get all misogynistic and oppressive and plain sick, and I start to get really pissed off. To think of my beautiful daughter thinking of herself as anything "less than", simply because the so-called standards of beauty in our society are so goddamn photoshop-anorexic-fucked-up-impossible, just kills me. How on earth did it come to be that now she's going to grow up faced with beauty standards for her vagina? Brazilians and Malibu Betty and Vajazzling are just silly crap - but what about genital lightening treatments? You know, if you're not... I'm not even sure what. White enough? Or labiaplasty, for that pencil-thin-and-straight look like so many pencils, but really not all that many vaginas, have. You have got to be shitting me.
I am going to go out on a limb here and presume that it is primarily for the benefit of men that women consider aesthetic alteration of their vuvuzelas. But here's the real, true, honest-Ernest scoop on the matter, based on an unspecified (yet, I assure you, defensible) sample size: straight men love vaginas. L-O-V-E them. And straight men HATE decorating. H-A-T-E it. Ergo, if there is a man trying to impart fashion improvements on your ladybits, HE IS CLEARLY HOMOSEXUAL. Stop. Do not pass the CelaBright. Do not incur personal debt in the name of vaginal "rejuvenation" surgery. Kick that silly bastard to the curb and find yourself someone who can love and accept you for you, in all your myriad ways, and for all your 2000 parts.
Preferably one who doesn't need twinkle lights and Swarovski signage to realize the party in your panties is a darn sight more fun than Vegas in the first place.