How Online Shopping Will Replace Husbands

How Online Shopping Will Replace Husbands

Like many women with husbands, I rely on mine to fetch and carry heavy things, repair stuff and to be generally useful. My job is to remember the names of the kids’ teachers and their special friends’ birthdays. It all balances out. Now that I am making the inevitable journey through menopause, I find myself having less and less patience to explain to him what we need from the store, or what brand of coffee we always drink, or even the fact that we are running out of toilet paper. Does he not notice? Every time I find myself making list of EXACTLY the same items (20 years of the same list) I find myself issuing a deep throated growl. You know the one, like a cat with it’s tail being held by a toddler. That growl. If this sounds like your life, I am about to give you a life hack solution that will make you joyously fling your list pad out the window. Did you know that in mere moments you can click to order coffee, toilet paper, socks, razors, dirty movies, or any other essentials with automatic monthly shipments. Is your mind blown? Mine was. I mean… it just shows up and I don’t even have to get out of my smelly nightgown to drive to the store for stuff I know we will need. Then I got to thinking. “What other conveniences might I enjoy with this newfound magic delivery service?” Might I someday be able to click and receive a weekly foot rub and pedicure from a handsome young man delivered by drone? Perhaps some garden help that shows up on the first Saturday of the month in a UPS box? As I think of new things to click for, I start to realize the possibilities are endless. Click to hang pictures, change the oil in my car, figure out what that noise under the porch is, or even click for spider removal. The mind boggles. Could I order a vacation companion who likes museums and doesn’t insist on beach and geriatric speedo holidays? My neighbor is also twigged to this idea. I notice she gets monthly deliveries of something struggling in an oversized burlap sack with a “handle with care” sticker on it. Man of the month service perhaps? It is not my place to judge. My husband wonders about the charges to our credit card that all seem to be from the same online mega store. He goes through each and every line and insists I am spending too much on fancy toilet paper, and foot rubs. And why did I need a large size muzzle, since we don’t actually have a...
What is With Tighty Whities?

What is With Tighty Whities?

Can somebody please enlighten me as to why white briefs exist at all? I mean, have the manufacturers never done laundry in their lives? When they are choosing fabrics for their boys’ and men’s underwear spring line, what goes on in their minds? “Oh, let’s buy white cotton to make ugly briefs that will become transparent in three washes! What could possibly go wrong?” White gonch is gross.  There, I said it. I will admit some bias as I am the laundry fairy at our house. I banned white underwear 20 years ago, and I am damned glad I did. If you don’t know why I am so voraciously opposed, then you have never done laundry with male undergarments in them. I will leave it at that. And have you ever noticed that when the movie and TV industry is filming low life redneck drunks, plotting serial killers or that guy that is about to get whacked while he is peeing, they are always wearing white briefs? There is a reason for that you know. If the character is bad, or is going to have something bad happen to him, he is in tighty whities. True story. I am still trying to unsee the sequence at the beginning of Breaking Bad when Walter White is running through the desert for miles in his white… cotton… briefs. They even bloody named him after his ginch. I can’t get the horror of it out of my mind… they just kept filming him from behind. I tried to look away from what I knew was going to be a major wardrobe malfunction where the camera would close in, and we would see the shadow of his ass crack.  I kept trying to watch the series by moving on to other episodes, hoping I wouldn’t ever have to see that again. And then they kept showing, flashbacks of the nasty man panties running. I never made it past episode five because of their poor costume selection. While we are talking about underwear choices, we should discuss the fact that briefs in any colour are not sexy. Dudes have so many choices and yet they go back to what Mama put them in when they were first potty trained. “Good boy sweetie, you poo-pooed in the potty, now you get to wear big boy underwear.” Blue Stanfields are ok for the newly undiapered, but not for a grown ass man who has any hope of seeing his underpants hanging from the chandelier. As I researched this piece, I diligently viewed literally hundreds of photos of men in underwear. (You know, to be accurate and all that.) What I found is that of all the...
Dudes, Where do You Get Your Fashion Advice?

Dudes, Where do You Get Your Fashion Advice?

This is an open letter to a particular slice of male society who are shooting themselves in the foot. Not literally plugging one in their big toe, just metaphorically, however still has the the same effect on their desirability as a festering foot would.  They are walking fashion train wrecks, and these men need an intervention. What twigged me to this pressing issue was an event I attended the other day at one of my kids’ schools. What I saw that night inspired me to write you menfolk this letter. Picture the scene: youngsters so excited, wearing dresses, their first pair of high heels, boys in suits, all with precision hair styles and shiny smiles. Their parents are coming to watch them graduate from middle school, excitement is in the air and the kids are feeling pretty darned fancy. As the parade of parents stroll in, I am struck by some of their interpretations of the words “formal dress event”. The ladies had generally made an effort, and wore outfits befitting the occasion. Some of the guys however, holy shit. I can’t make this stuff up. One Dad donned a pair of sloppy shorts ripped in dubious locations, and a cut-off sweatshirt thus putting his armpit squirrel on prominent display. Seriously, he looked like he just rolled out from under his car, stuffed his dirty white-socked feet into a pair of pre-Cambrian sandals and sauntered into his child’s grad. To complete his outfit, he tipped a big can of Monster energy drink up to his unshaven greasy face and dribbled it into his scruff. His daughter must have been so proud. Then there was the one with the black jeans, a chained up wallet and a t-shirt espousing his rank in a white supremacist group. I will just let that sink in for a minute. Another Dad was at least in clean clothes, but I think they might have been pajamas. Not the sexy kind either. Before you decide I am the most heinous judgy bag in the world, I do admire somebody in their work gear showing up because that is as quick as they could get there. A mechanic or construction worker isn’t going to be neat and tidy on their way home from work, not if they are working hard anyway.  (For the record, a sweaty guy wearing a pair of Carhartt overalls is mangerie – straight up sexy.) These working guys are not the people I am talking about. It is the ones who make the choice to look like they just crawled out of a dumpster that make me cringe and want to save them. A few wise words for you my fine and...
The Evil Among us: Fake Cancer Scammers

The Evil Among us: Fake Cancer Scammers

Have you noticed your socials feeds are riddled with heart wrenching appeals for clicks and support, and more critically, money? I know mine are, and they are relentless. The stories are indeed tragic. Sick babies, burnt out homes, devastating injuries and cancer. So much cancer. There are also appeals for blood donation, hospitals, animal shelters and various charities. Lots of need, and limited funds. These appeals are particularly compelling when they come from a local source, or for issues that touch our own situations. People who have big hearts donate generously because essentially humans are decent. We understand that it could be any of us, at any time and we need to spread the love around. Passing the hat to help people who have fallen on hard times or are ill, is one of the most humane and selfless acts of generosity. Now, it is even easier to donate to causes we care about with on-line giving. A few clicks and you have saved a kitten or contributed to some kid’s bone marrow transplant. Whatever you care about, you can help in a New York minute with a donation sent through the web. And therein lies the problem. Any jackass can come up with an appeal for funding on any issue. However for some reason cancer seems to be the trigger that gets people giving and makes them easy marks. The good and compassionate people on Facebook or wherever click away their money only to hear that the person they funded isn’t actually sick, or doesn’t even exist.Or worse, they never know they were taken for a rube. There was a story sometime back about a woman who was pretty damned gutsy about her scam. She convinced people at her workplace that she had cancer, and was “pushing through it” and coming to work. She even shaved her head (talk about commitment). Her co-workers set up a fund for her, they created on line appeals and even held fundraising events for her expenses. She never had cancer. She didn’t have so much as the bloody sniffles. Her main diagnosis is that she is a scumbag with no moral fiber. It was good to read that she was eventually charged for fraud, but those kindly donors were out their money, and likely a little piece of their souls too. Another impact of this sort of story is that people become mistrustful and miserly when they are asked for help again. So the genuine tragedies that happen to good people are at risk of being viewed with a nasty skepticism because of a few terrible humans. As a cancer warrior myself, I become apoplectic when I hear about these charlatans whose only...
On the Topic of Men – Musings From an Old Girl

On the Topic of Men – Musings From an Old Girl

I love men, truly. In my many years on this mortal coil, loads of dudes have passed through my life. I have worked with them, been friends with lots, ogled the shiny ones (I am talking to you Dwayne Johnson) married two of them, and crossed swords with more than I can count across a boardroom table. I have used them, been used by them, admired more than a few, and always made a point to verbally throat punch the ones who needed it. I may also have physically thrashed one who deserved it. (Let’s just say that last one needed a lesson in how to treat a woman and will make him think twice about trying to hurt one in the future.) With all of these varied males who came into my world, I now consider myself a bit of a connoisseur of the hairier sex and have a few observations. I believe men are born with the innate understanding that they will live their lives prevailing in any path they choose. Even before their feet hit the ground each morning, they revel in the fact that their exceptionally formed and attractive junk somehow makes them destined for success and glory. Or at least I hope that is how they feel, because wouldn’t it be awesome not to question yourself and not over think everything? You go buddy, this is your destiny, use it wisely. Another interesting, and highly amusing concept is that guys haven’t a clue in the world how female brains work. We confound them at every turn, and they are never quite sure how to manage their relationships with us, and we know it. This is how we even up the power balance because they got more muscles than we did. If we really need to set off a man’s brain and turn it into a garbage fire, we just ask him if our new jeans make us look fat… and we wait for the sweat to start. Mission accomplished. Speaking of bodies, I love men’s bodies of all sorts, fat, thin, tall, shortish, whatever – they all have their own appeal. The ones I admire the most are confident about whatever their genes have given them. For example, I know of one chunky dude who does co-ed nude yoga. To him I say: “Own it buddy, you can drop the mic after doing the downward dog in front of a whole bunch of ladies.” Men – generally – spend less time bellyaching about their flabby bits, and that makes them a special kind of magic. It also makes them attractive as hell. It isn’t all sunshine though. For example, I genuinely think sometimes men get...
Valentine’s Day Sucks

Valentine’s Day Sucks

If you think Valentine’s is romantic, wonderful and provides a chance to reconnect with your love, then you might want to move along to another article, you won’t like this one. Still with me? Good. So what is it with these Hallmark holidays anyway? There is so much red heart-shaped shit in the stores, I feel like I am having a bleeding cardiac nightmare that I can’t escape. The pressure of expressing love monetarily, or even finding love boiled down into this one contrived day is ridiculous. In particular, I kind of feel bad for dudes around this day. The pressure they are under is enough to make coal into diamonds in their colons. As a for instance, random Joe six pack assumes his honey- bunch wants something, but what that might be: clueless. Joe then waits until the very last minute, which is why 711 stores do a booming business on February 14th. Poor Joe. He worries about all the trappings that the retail industry foists upon this “holiday”. He maybe coughs up for a dozen roses, or perhaps spends a paycheque leveling up by hitting the jewelry store and maxing out his VISA card for a special gift. Many men are vulnerable to the siren song of the jewelry shop lady and spend their last dime to get you that latest offering from Peoples. But you hate it. The “tender hearts” necklace of 2009 sits in its original box being passive aggressively never worn because you actually wanted a spa day. The struggle is real isn’t it ladies? You want something, but you wish he would just somehow know what that is. That yearning for him to be able to read your mind eventually recedes, I promise. Because if you are north of 30, you likely already told him that if he brings home one more box of heart-shaped wax with the label “chocolate product” on it from the corner store, you will jam it in his gob, or somewhere nastier. If you are in your 40’s you probably went and got yourself something, wrapped it and made a tag of love from him. Kind of like Christmas and your birthday. Once you hit 50, his job gets easier… just wine and a gift certificate for Uber so you can go out with your girlfriends. We ladies don’t get a free pass on the Valentine’s pressure either. Why should the responsibility of showing love by spending money be his alone? We love our dudes and want to do something nice for him. We all know what that is, so you can dispense with the card, the chocolate, the dinner date and spend the money on some fancy...