Things My Pubic Hair Tells Me To Say: #1

There are very few things that irk me more than my mother casually eating a bag of chips over the phone. Every time she crudely crunches in my ear, I feel as though her intention is to scrape off a thin layer of my ear drum. This is unkind.

The next to take the cake are bikers who cycle outside of the bicycle lane–that residents lobbied for–and into the middle of the street, where I am now forced to drive at five miles per hour. This too is very inconsiderate.

Because it is, again past my bedtime, I am going to skip over a few noteworthy pet peeves and right into the most disturbing irritant of them all.

*que epic music*

This post is a venomous shout out to the people who forego knocking on bathroom doors before opening them. The avid wiggle of door handles without a proper role-call is outright disrespectful and shows me that one’s home training is that of a kangaroo. Ill-prefaced doorknobbing makes me want to walk to the culprit mid-squat and squirt what is left of me onto the bottom of their chin (shout out to Jada Fire). Though I have not done the research, my student loans (by default) grant me the intellect to presume most Americans were taught proper bathroom etiquette. One would think that it would be of interest to knock, especially upon entering a space where you are bound to encounter all types of hanging flesh. I mean, is your pee and/or poop situation that urgent to where you are willing to risk being confronted with a bushel of pubic hair?

I just do not think it right to try to enter a public bathroom without giving the door a quick tap of the knuckles. Unless you have some cash and a decent HD camera, then I suggest you politely wait by the door until I fully release the action within.

In gratitude, the pubes.


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