No. I Do Not Want To Go To Your Weird Lady Party.
This is a copied and pasted message from my sister:
“Hey, can you please make it out to my wrap gathering? It’s maybe just like an hour and a half of your time. I am trying to sell these and I need four people at the party to try it to pay towards my start up. I PROMISE you that you will see a difference, especially since you are so concerned over your stomach area. This will help it. I tried it on my stomach and lost three inches…Cellulite lines are better, skin not so “dimply”. Will you try it????????”
This “wrap gathering” that she speaks of will consist of women gathering in a social fashion and putting some sticky, expensive paper on our sagging, flabby, or otherwise unfortunate parts.
I saw her facebook invite last week and quickly changed my screen to something else as though it never happened. Note, I WAS NOT PURPOSELY BEING A JERK AND IGNORING HER. I was merely putting myself in a state of denial that I had ever read it in order to avoid explaining why my RSVP was a giant “fuck no”.
I really should know better because I always wind up having to explain myself. It is just the way it is.
I love my sister. A lot. She is a very important person to me. We are quite different from each other, but still get along quite well, and have lots of neat talks all the time. Keep in mind, that by “different”, I mean something that surpasses comparing us to “night and day” or “black and white” or “steak and lettuce”. We are more like comparing a potato to a lamp, in that we are a completely different things all together.
Side note: I am the potato in this relationship because I go great with salt and butter.
Anyways, we have known each other for twenty-nine years, and she still forgets that these sorts of vaginal gatherings are just not my bag, ESPECIALLY one that involves us sitting in a room complaining about the semi-private areas on our body that we hate and covering them with magical sticky paper. She may be able to lure me in with some fancy dark chocolate and a bottle of red wine so long as I’m allowed to hide in the bathroom during the shenanigans and won’t be required to participate or buy anything, though something tells me that will not do.
After going back and forth with her for a bit as I was defending my “I don’t wanna” stance, I had a thought: I’ve been on a mission to do things that challenge my comfort zone. I resist these ”ladies getting together and buying shit” parties because I am not always a very social person and I think they’re really dumb. But WHAT IF this whole ordeal BLOWS MY MIND and winds up being one of the best experiences of my life and I miss out because I’m stubborn and hate everything? And, WHAT IF this magical sticky paper really is a truly amazing product that will transform me into a SPARKLING SEX-BEAST?
I decided to look up the product’s website to see what the fucking hoopla was about, and the more I read, the less I wanted to attend.
First of all, the product name is awful. It’s called “It Works”.
I’m glad I discovered that before asking my sister what it was called because that would have likely been a very frustrating conversation.
Me: “What’s it called?”
Her: “It works”
Me: “Yes, you mentioned that in the invite, but what is it called?”
Her: “IT WORKS”
Me: “WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP TRYING TO SELL IT I JUST WANT TO KNOW THE NAME OF THE PRODUCT”.
Her: “OMFG. It. Works.”
Me: “Fuck this, I’m telling Dad.”
Of course there are cliché pictures of tape measures and women smiling holding up a pair of fat pants next to their lucious skinny figures with quotes, ”It really works!”
So ‘It Works’ really works, eh? You don’t say.
It goes on about how it’s amazing and wonderful and magical and such. I’m automatically suspicious when companies use those sorts of hefty adjectives in hopes of selling their product, which is not helping me change my mind what so ever.
Then it gets to the part about the wrap parties, and shows this picture:
Even if you lure me with chocolate and a bottle of delicious fermented grape juice.
Even if I will transform into a sparkling sex-beast.
That shit is fucking terrifying.
And I do not want to go.
I have never been more sure of anything in my life.
PS: In my last post, I asked for help in picking out a sac that I will be stuck with for the unforeseeable future. I am most likely going to make my purchase tomorrow, so if you’re bored, do mosey on over and vote on which one is the least shitty.