Oh hi.

I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time to talk since I’m preoccupied with painfully ripping my hair out of its follicles, but here are some of my top complaints about being a woman.

Cleaning Makeup brushes

I know it might blow some of your minds to hear that tiny leprechauns don’t come in the middle of the night to scrub half of our face off our beauty tools, but we actually have to take the time to do it ourselves. Not doing so will upset the gods of blemishes and torment, so in order that our faces remain un-smitten a woman is required to remove all traces that she might have used her brushes for their intended purpose.

The ritual is carried out differently depending on the region, but all of them suck party hats through a straw.

Do not be deceived by how fun that sounds.

Shaving our legs

It’s been a well-guarded secret for the better half of a century that women are born with an unsightly condition known as harious leggusness. Not to be confused with the totally normal leg hair of men, this affliction has been known to render a woman a flaming feminazi unless properly tamed by the demure lady’s razor of polite triumph. The blood offerings rendered upon cutting oneself bear the dual purpose of offerings for the gods of blemishes and torment.

Risk of pregnancy

Did you know that nearly every woman on the planet is capable of producing another human being in the confines of her abdomen? They are! Did you know that they then will be expected to push that thing out of a hole roughly the width of your thumb? Because that just sounds swell!

This time the hat is pushed through the straw.

Yay blood and suffering!

Wearing bras

Nothing says sexy like unyielding wires and pushing your boobs up to your chin! Sure they’re about as comfortable as a mosquito ridden, satin torture device, and they might provide all of the scientifically proven anti-saggage protection of a Doctor Oz endorsement, but when it comes to restraining a woman’s most fearsome womanly asset, nothing beats the confining death grip of an overpriced boob stirrup.

Because humanity as we know it would fall into ruin should there even be the suggestion of a nipple.

It is our most solemn responsibility.

Fake pockets

This may be the worst offense yet.

I’m not sure what the dickwagons in the fashion industry think they’re pulling with these pocket ‘suggestions’ stitched into my favorite pair of jeans, but the next time I drop my phone on the ground I demand they prostrate themselves so I can punch them in the face. I’ve never seen this phenomenon in men’s jeans, and, as the sole reason for a pocket’s existence is to hold things, I’m holding out on good faith that the designers did this hyped up on bath salts, not as a heavy handed expression of mad power against women disrupting the look of their product by placing iphones in them.

Because that would be crazy.

Crazy like fuck-every-last-one-of-you-give-me-back-my-fucking-pockets.

Fox.

Like a fox.

Goodnight and good luck,

-Scarves