Next weekend will be Amy’s birthday. She’ll be 33 or 36 or 30-something. Amy is just about the greatest wife in the world, and she deserves the best gift that money can buy (as long is it’s not expensive), but I had no idea what to get her. So I rode to the mall and trekked from store to store asking saleswomen for advice (they ought to know, right?), and every saleswoman said exactly the same thing: “Excuse me. My eyes are up here.”
What is it with women and their eyes? I mean, really, it’s like an obsession or something, and it’s not healthy. Recent lack of research shows that last year American women spent about 80 trillion dollars striving for some unrealistic ideal of eye beauty: 80 trillion on a wide range of cosmetics, elective lid-lifts, botox, bag-bleach, crows feet de-clawing, contacts, glass eyeballs, and superglue. I hate to throw big words around just to sound smart, but it’s called Occuloclusive Dysmorphia and it’s a real problem.
Women of the world, it's not what's outside that's important. What really matters is what’s inside. Inside your blouse. Ha ha ha ha ha ha.
No no no. That was a cheap joke and I apologize, because in resorting to such crudity I’ve weakened what is otherwise an important point: Women’s objectification of women’s eyes is just plain wrong. Get over it, ladies. Really, when you think about it, they’re just a pair of round, smooth, firm, glistening orbs.
Well, anyway, I didn't leave the mall empty-handed. Amy will love her new mascara.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
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