Make It Stop!

We can lead a grown man to a Onesie and we can make him think

My resolve to keep quiet on this subject was shot to hell on spying a romantic couple dining across from me. She in her LBD (Little Black Dress) and he in his ODLO (Oh Dear Lord, a Onesie.)

Restaurants, may want to consider stopping with the posters about no photographing, tweeting or otherwise playing with our food and getting their crayons out to draw upon more urgent matters.

Onesie notice

And ladies, ladies, ladies, our men can be made to cease and desist only if we raise the bar higher…and not talking crib bar.

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Make It Stop!

Why should employees be charged for the uniform they are charged with wearing?

When I was a student needing to earn a crust, I had something called a ‘Saturday Job’.  Nah, you’re not that young, you all remember the Saturday Job.

And popular Saturday jobs were to be had at places like Marks & Spencer, Waitrose, Bhs and C&A. My first was at C&A but, wherever you worked, the uniform was nearly always made out of something called Crimplene – a cross between nylon and radioactive waste. Ghastly.

It would have been doubly injurious, therefore, if we then had to pay for this mandatory clothing and the skin irritation which came with it.

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Would you ask a commuter to play with your baby?

On the bus home earlier in the week, my mind, as it often does, ruminated a trying day (where I had tried my best and everyone else tried their best to be trying). In this reflective state (cloud cuckoo land), I typically don’t notice my fellow commuters except in a vague peripheral kinda way.

Cue someone poking me in the peripheral to gain my attention.

Me: Hi?

Mother: The baby is trying to get your attention.

Me: Uh, what?

Mother: My baby is trying to get your attention.

Me: Oh, do I owe it money?

Mother: What?

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Make It Stop!

Good hair and disappointing black bloggers

Apparently, to be a proud black woman who is not ‘self-hating on herself’, my hair should be as natural as God made it and remain so until He and I meet to discuss the matter. (Which, frankly, would be preferable to picking over my many sins while on His earth.)

So said an interesting dissertation in the HMS HerMelness HQ postbag last week.

And it is interesting since the subject of black women and their hair has always raged and it will ever be thus. What remains interesting to me, though, is these dye-in-the-wool declarations we are supposed to follow sheep-like if we’re not to be pelted with a tub of hair relaxer as we walk down the street.

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