So, yesterday, deep thoughts were twinkling through my mind as I lay soaking in the bathtub, aromatic fumes encircling me. I sunk a bit deeper into my mermaid pool, and added a bit more hot water, using my toe to turn the nozzle. My thoughts gradually turned from all the different ways I shall eat Nutella come Sunday, to more weighty thoughts, like the role of women in modern society.
"Why," I mused, "can women just not be cats?" I mean, face it, we pretty much have the personality--happy one minute, and clawing angrily the next at some unfortunate soul. (By the way, this is meant to be tongue-in-cheek and amusing, not offensive...)
Pleased with my mental prowess, I applied myself once more to this new philosophy of woman. Women, I asserted to myself, should be cats because the fatter they are, the cuter. This would address the issue of anorexia and whatnot caused by the body image society is projecting on the female race.
Secondly, once you choose a nice man to be your personal slave, he will pet you, but only as long as you desire, since he will have a healthy fear of the claws. And we will be so cute, that the men will feed us more and oodle with delight over our cute, fat, fluffy selves.
Oh yes, the fluffy part... Ladies, throw out those razors! Fluffy is fabulous. It's gonna be No Shave November all year long!
Furthermore, we will have tails, and tails are awesome, period.
Also, every winter, when it gets too cold and there are less sun beams to nap in, all the women can take a trip to Egypt and spend two weeks basking in a temple, revisiting the old glory days when cats were worshiped.
And lastly, best of all, we will get to nap aaaall day. When we aren't napping, we can eat, and can gaze upon our luxurious tails.
A half hour later, I roused from my reverie, realizing that my bath should probably really, truly cease now. But only because it was dinner time. After that, I took a nap. ;)
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