The most “The fuck?” baby I’ve ever seen.

I took this photo from the car while driving, so I’m sorry for the poor quality, but I drive past this billboard every day and I feel like everyone needs to behold its majesty.

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Semi-annual reminder that your vagina is vile.

I just saw a YouTube ad encouraging women to wear a scented pantyliner EVERY day.

“Just a reminder, ladies: Your vagina is super gross and shouldn’t even come into contact with washable undergarments. Any of that ‘natural’ nonsense that happens in the region should be relegated to a disposable sliver of chemically scented fabric and thrown into the landfill where it belongs, never to be seen, smelled, or spoken of.”

Family, Food, Facebook, Fat, Fuck.

I had written all this high and mighty shit about feeling bad for my mom, because she’s so worried about her weight that she deprives herself of delicious food. I prattled on about how I was glad I let myself enjoy food, because pfft, I’m clearly SO above those outdated ideas, and fuck it, we only get one trip through here, so we might as well have cake.

Aaand then my brother Facebook-tagged me in some party pics from the other night, and you know those weight-loss ads where the women are all, “I saw myself in a photo and realized I am a giant fuckoff hambeast?” Yeahhh… I’m gonna have to rebuild some of that body confidence I’d been having.

Cameras lie, though. They are tricksy and false. Basically wizards. Shifty wizards, in cahoots with angles and lighting. That’s right, I said it — cahoots.

Still, maybe some exercise is in order. We all know I’ll do whatever Shaun T tells me to.

No kale, though.

Fuck kale.

“Go on, take the money and run.” 

Wait, what? There’s a woman shaped like me on a magazine cover? A fitness magazine cover?

The hell? Is that even legal? Holy shit, is the world ending?

I’d already been feeling fairly decent about my body lately…but THIS?

Damn, I’m an American woman whose self-esteem seems to be hovering around normal — someone better send out a rep from Corporate to shut that shit down.

That’s probably why there are ads inside the magazine, just to remind me that I am, in fact, too big for my britches.