the nonsensical musings of a clueless twenty something

Maybe I Don’t Want a Sexy Salad

Or not.

Or not.

The past 6 months were survived by yours truly sans cable television (I was attempting to budget (and by budget I mean afford things like groceries)). In attempting said hiatus I’ve apparently been depriving myself of all sorts of things.

Firstly, those kids on the AT&T commercials? Let me just say…when my child-bearing days arrive (…), I’m cashing in my amassed prayer tokens and asking for those babe(s) to be delivered on the wings of all things nonsensical.

Please, God…make them say things that are marketable.

The other thing that I’ve apparently been missing is the sexualization of salad dressing (that’s not a word (but it is (unfortunately) a thing)).

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, see the below link:

Aside from the obvious unsanitary nature of all of this, as a completely heterosexual 25 year-old female, let me just say…it exhausts me.

I am so tired of sexy.

I am sexied out. I feel the same way about sexy as I do about my coworkers come Friday afternoon.

I have spent too much time with you, sexy.

Yeah, Zesty guy, you’re attractive.

Like…really attractive.

But I’d like you more if you put on a pair of sweatpants and wanted to play me in a rousing game of Jenga.

In my general experience, there are typically others that share my sentiments.

I’ve got a feeling that, as a society, we are reaching our sexy plateau. Like war and natural disaster, I believe that just about everyone (who doesn’t bank on sexuality for their livelihood (personal or otherwise)) is, in the nearest of futures, going to be over the sexy thing.

I mean, aren’t you tired?

I’ve tried the sexy thing. I’ve tried the Pinterest hair and the spray tans and the highlighting/contouring. I’ve done the manicures and the waxing and the moisturizing. I eat grilled chicken and rice cakes. I do squats. I’ve worn high heels and short skirts. I’ve wandered down the edifying path of Cosmopolitan magazine. I’ve even tried wearing colorful skinny jeans (which, in my opinion, are decidedly un-sexy).

But you know what? My sexy will never be enough sexy.

And I am (beyond) alright with that.

Keep your sexy salad, shirtless wonder.

(someone please turn that into a bumper sticker)

Frozen pizza is sounding infinitely more appetizing these days.

This entry was published on June 6, 2013 at 3:51 pm. It’s filed under Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

2 thoughts on “Maybe I Don’t Want a Sexy Salad

  1. Linda Chaston on said:

    I love you in so many colorful non-skinny-jeans ways. Yes, yes, yes.

  2. sexinthecincy on said:

    Someone besides me feels this way. I think I’m sexied out. It’s becoming overrated. What about beauty?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: