Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Pants Rant

Dear Kayser,

Please stop publishing large glossy images of bean-pole shaped women and labelling them apples and hourglasses.


The picture's a little small, but is still clearly retarded.

Kayser, the women in your ads are bean-poles, plain and simple, and no more or less beautiful than other body shapes for it. But this is not my point.

My point is that terms such as apple, hourglass, and pear have been adopted to encourage recognition in women, particularly the impressionable and the young, that female bodies which are something other bean-poles* are completely normal and should be acknowledged as such. In addition to being normal, bean-poley women are privy to a pervasive and subtle series of advantages that other-shaped women often miss out on. To commandeer these body-shape terms to sell underpants lacks taste, responsibility and also plain logic. I may be rounded but I'm not blind.

Are these ads trying to convince non-bean-pole shaped women that Kayser's skimpy lace concoctions are designed just for them? Because all I'm seeing is standard issue underwear models. Men may like them, but men don't buy that many briefs, so I'm stumped.

HOURGLASS FAIL, people. Honestly, the presence of a-cup breasts does not an hourglass make. A female they make. A diverse gender but generally a breasted one.

Until I see a pear shaped bottom, preferably sporting requisite dimples, snugly wrapped up in your undies, I remain utterly unconvinced that they will be anything other than a literal pain in my arse.

On behalf of the young and impressionable, I would also like to add FUCK YOU KAYSER, YOU ABHORENTLY RECKLESS PIECE OF CRAP COMPANY. GIVE ME BACK MY PEAR.

* I heard these women referered to as zucchinis tonight, and needless to say was filled with mirth.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

The world is on my side.

As Leith and I sat side by side on the QANTAS jet yesterday, which was slowly taxiing down the runway, we observed dark grey clouds sort of frothing quite low in the sky ahead.

"Look!" Leith suddently exclaimed.
"What?" said I.

Shortly after this, there was more, very observable lightening, really very nearby. I was sort of thrilled in a scaredy way by this, and wondered aloud whether the lightening could strike the plane as we flew threw the stormy skies.

"Where have you ever read about lightening striking a plane?" Leith scoffed.

I protested in my usual pedantic fashion that I'd never claimed to have read about it, and was simply musing on a hypothetical.

As we sat in our room at the the hotel in Perth last night, Leith was on a call to one of his clients, and I had checked my email, and briefly flicked to the Age Online. And there, in bold type in the lead story position at the very top of the page was this headline:

Lightening Strikes Plane

with further details about several planes that were struck by lightening that very afternoon, one of them on the same route we had flown.

I got enormous pleasure by frantically beckoning to Leith as he continued his conversation, and pointing triumphantly at the screen.

"I read it there!" I mouthed smugly.

He looked suitably annoyed and amused.

It is in these tiny serendipitous incidences that some of my greatest, and most petty, joys reside.