The start of a new year, for whatever reason, fills people, especially “women” with a lot of ideas about being their “best selves.” As though it can be carved out like a turkey. And anyway, if you could have willed your body and personality into its best version, you probably should have done it when you were younger and more malleable. But alas, you, like so many other “women,” are likely duped into believing that this is going to be “your year”–as though you had some sort of exclusive narcissist’s monopoly on living, on the world.
So you prop yourself up on [insert name of torture device here] at the gym, quit drinking (at least for Sober January) and start meditating. While this is all very annoying to those who have resigned themselves to year after year of not changing (unless becoming more curmudgeonly and decrepit counts), just wait until about two weeks into January, when the peak “New Year, New Me” declaration has begun to wither with the ravages of day-to-day existence and the need for according numbing agents. That’s when the plastered on smile really starts to crack and the desire to shlep to the gym every day wanes to about twice a week.
It isn’t that these “women” are bad people, necessarily. They’re just extremely self-deluded. But that’s what it takes to be a straight “woman” these days, so let them tout their fake mantra while they can, before the year starts to slide into all too familiar territory: crippling disappointment.
Missing A Clit 