Usually, around this point in October, the lust that “women” of a basique nature still feel for pumpkin spice after all these years since Starbucks invented the desire for it in 2003, when the pumpkin spice latte was first released, you have to wonder how the rail thin shape of her very body hasn’t somehow turned into a pumpkin as magically as Cinderella’s carriage after midnight. It is this sort of “woman” who also can’t help but delight in such fall activities as going to pumpkin patches or apple orchards and seeking out foliage for the perfect Instagram photo of her holding up a leaf or a Boomerang of her jumping into a pile of them (though even that might be too creative).
Her overloaded craving for a world colored in pumpkin spice and all the associated fall banalities that come with it can be so overpowering–what with draping herself in infinity scarves, oversized sweaters and jeans from Madewell—that she, in fact, might actually manage to saturate her very tampon in the flavor of pumpkin spice. Because, yes, this the type of “girl” who still inserts tampons instead of dripping “her essence” into a bleeding cup. She’s not “earthy” enough for all that, after all, capitalist bitch that she tends to be.
Her ardency for the artificial flavor–as artificial as the millennial “experiences” that have been created to worship fall like some sort of god–is almost as overpowering as the inevitable animal prints that creep into fall clothing collections each year like clockwork. A clockwork pumpkin spice, as it were. Almost as predictable as the ticking biological clock of a “woman” who wants to have her own daughter (therefore temporarily dispense with her pumpkin spice-soaked tampons) that she can mold into the perfect junior basic to carry on the fall tradition of pumpkin spice fervor for generations to come.
Missing A Clit 