Recently, it has come to my attention that my body has the ability to offend some people. My recent awakening occurred earlier this week when I scandalized a group of anonymous pool goers in a cheeky one-piece bathing suit. I was made aware of the offensive clothing choice by an elderly female security guard. (This particular pool had recently done away with lifeguards in favor of security guards to prevent real problems such as inappropriate swimwear; never mind frivolous issues such as drowning.) With a beckoning finger, the guard called me over and politely instructed me to change my slutty attire as my ass cheeks had given offense to some of the older guests. It was evident that Speedo Joe’s gut and hairy chest was not cause for dismissal (despite the fact that his exposed skin-to-bathing suit ratio was greater than mine). It was equally evident that despite no posted dress code, a sense of implied propriety had been violated. Too flabbergasted to protest, I left the pool and mothers everywhere breathed a sigh of relief as they removed their hands from shielding children’s eyes. Clearly their vacation experience was more valuable than mine.
After reflecting upon my reckless actions, it is obvious to me that it must have been a mother or grandmother who felt the need for my removal. Women tear other women down. It is our moral obligation, and far be it from me to defy societal standards! It saddens me this supposed “progress” women have made in the last hundred years. Gone are the days of police measuring swimsuits and arresting women with indecent hemlines. It is a woman’s job, nay, her duty to keep her sisters in check. They warned us women could not think for themselves, but did we listen? Noooo. It all started when they let women start attending college. We filled our heads with silly notions. We thought we could decide our own fate. We got greedy. We wanted to marry for love. Suffrage? Ha! More like suffering. How great life must’ve been when so little was expected of you. I should never be allowed to think for myself; I can barely decide what I want to eat half the time. And you know what I have to show for making my own decisions? A wounded ego and a sunburned ass.
In conclusion, I would like to offer a former apology on behalf of myself and like-minded harlots everywhere. I am sorry for daring to have agency over my own body and for thinking all bodies are beautiful. I have since learned that even a size 2, curve-less body like mine – so flat it resembles a world map from the Middle Ages – could still be so disgustingly, wantonly, woman in its form. I have repented and am ready to fully embrace any and all sexist double standards because they are for my own good. This could have all been avoided if only I had a man to tell me how to properly dress..
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