Friday, June 19, 2009

Hot flushes.

I wasn't going to bore you with anything today, being Friday and all, but then I got a call from Tom Murphy, the new guy slumped in Jim Nunn's old La-Z-boy at CBC.

'Seems it was a slow news day because they wanted my take on the Halifax Harbour Sewage fiasco. I told them I look like Burl Ives on camera, and anything I would have to say would be censored, so it was a waste of time. But I gave him my "what fer" anyway.

It was pre-cocktail hour and I was in abnormal state of bliss having been in "meetings" at White Point all day, so he got off pretty easy. I did say, while as much fun as it is to point a finger at Peter Kelly or the Homer Simpson character they had watching over the poop plant, I place a great deal of the blame for the stuff washing up on the beach, on women.

Yes, you heard it. I am not going to wave the asshole flag at men today.

Oh don't worry, we can still blame men for everything else, and we can blame our kids for stretch marks and the subsequent lurching toward the wine coolers midday, but ladies, when it comes to the plastic tampon applicators rolling around in the surf, the finger is pointing straight at us. And it's the middle finger.

I know, I know, every 28 days, I get a little cranky too. And by this stage in life you may have brand loyalty. But I don't see corporate Mr. Playtex or Ms. Tampax Compact frolicking on the beach in Point Pleasant Park. They're up in Toronto making tidy little salaries creating those bad ads where Mother Nature brings you a monthly "gift" all wrapped up in red paper. When they flush, it doesn't show up down by the water at Ontario Place. I say, lets gather up all the plastic party favours on the beach and send them back to Proctor & Gamble, or Playtex, with a big fucking red bow.

Oh, I am so excited to have something to "rag" about.

And maybe if, okay when, I get really hopped up on crantinis and hormones, I'll call Sobeys and Superstore and Shopper's Drug Mart and say, "what the fuck". Pull those little plastic pocket rockets off of the shelves until Peter gets his groove back.

In the meantime, if you really need to shove something plastic "up there", make it vibrate and rock your mini van world.

Or recycle. Or use cardboard applicators. Or, your finger. Or, here's an idea: Everytime you feel the need to flush a plastic applicator down the toilet, toss it on your lawn instead.

Oh yes, that's right sista. I am mad now. And it's not even the "time of the month".