I remembered something else I was going to mention the other day but had previously escaped my mind.

Last night in the middle of the night I woke up and composed a rather mean note in my mind.  I think it began something like,

"Dear Wannabe Fashionista, 

Wearing enormous sunglasses that dwarf your face and make you look like either one of the Olsen twins –or worse, Chloë Sevigny— should not be anyone’s idea of fashionable. 

I know… they are probably Wayfarers, and yes… they were cool once, circa 1983.  You know, back when Tom Cruise was the shizznit and no one ever even dreamed that he was 1)actually five-foot-two, or however tall he truly is, or b) insane.

You know.  Before you were born.

They aren’t cool.  Not anymore.  And definitely not in white.  And definitely not with that kelly green terrycloth shirt you’re wearing.  They are strangely hausfrau on you, missy.  And what’s up with the hair, huh?  You should consider doing something with that lank brown hair, because it’s not framing your face as much as it is just plain overwhelming it– that is to say that you look more like the "before" in a shampoo commercial.

I’m thinking Selsun Blue."

Yeah I know.  I mean, what did that girl ever do to me, really, to deserve such a nasty little note?

Did she give me the evil eye while I was walking down the street with Herr Meow?  Um… a little, but it wasn’t like holding-my-head-sobbing horrible staring.

Did she walk by in a devil-may-care attitude, looking overprivileged and mildly hungover, looking worry-free except for the procurement of her first caffeine shot of the day?

Yes.  And I’m having my own event, Discovery Channel.  I’ve always resented your super-successful Shark Week, with all its talk of cartilage and rows of teeth and leathery skin that cuts if you rub it against the grain.

It’s Catty Week here at Zen Sarcasm.  I honestly don’t know where this is all coming out, but out it must come.

________

Then again, I ran into this item sometime yesterday and I must admit it gave me pause.

Could it be possible that wallowing in problems –or non-problems, as the little unfashionista might be– actually makes them worse?

________

Part of me wants to disagree loudly– after all, problems are best off released into the world and expunged and exorcised out of your soul, right?  That’s why we women have a longer life expectancy– because we don’t hold in all our anger and frustration and keel over from a heart attack from being as tight as a pressure cooker or whatnot.  But that kind of sounds like a sexist copout, because some men love nothing better than to whine in their own way.  And when confronted with their whining at a later date, they will vehemently deny it too.

Yeah you do.  Deny, deny, deny, men.  One of these days I’m going to invest in a Home Stenographer and then all bets are off.  Until then…

_______

Anyway.  I started thinking about a friendship that ended partially because the friend in question couldn’t see that it was not exactly… um…. shall we say, kosher? copacetic? parent-approved? … to gift someone a Hello Kitty-shaped vibrator for Christmas.

A Hello Kitty-shaped vibrator. 

For Christmas.

I can see giving a HK fan something HK-shaped.  That’s fine.

I can see the potential for fun in giving something naughty-yet-HK-shaped something (underwear? riding crop?) for a bachelorette party or a stag-and-hen bit, you know?

I can see how you would give a very, very close friend a vibrator because you thought she could use one to, say, take the edge off or stop being such an uptight frigid cow, but, um…. only if they had specifically asked you about it, maybe? 

No, actually.  I can’t see that last bit– I’m thinking that vibrators are a bit on the intimate side of things– something that you would buy for yourself, or as a couple.  But it’s no one else’s business, really– kind of like how it would be a testament of love if your significant other buys you tampons, antifungal ointment or ass cream without putting on that "why, Lord?" face on when you ask. Am I wrong and prudish for thinking this?

So yes. Here I am whining about a problem that’s dead and gone.  And I am asking you guys –you who come from different walks of life– to shed some light on this issue (i.e. Am I a prude?).

And I can guarantee that this problem will not get any bigger by our extensive probing thereof, thus proving all that lovely research wrong.

Maybe.

_____

Pee Ess: A Lemon Drop recipe for you, for being such great sports!  Thank you Drinksmixer.com!

Lemon Drop
1/2 oz vodka

(pee-pee-ess: I usually see them served on martini glasses, but don’t tell anyone.  Or, ok, do.)