Thursday, December 6, 2012
Yesterday when we were in the Costco, I bought a razor and eleven cartridges. It cost about one million dollars but in my defense, eleven razor cartridges will last me two years. They put forty-two blades in each of those things and how dull can they get shaving my sparsely bristled legs and armpits? Not that dull.
But that's not what I want to talk about. You see that package? It took me twenty damn minutes to get that fucking razor and those cartridges out of it. WHO INVENTED THIS SORT OF PACKAGING? ARE THEY IN JAIL? Because they should be.
Granted, I only used a sharp pair of nail scissors to open it but even if I'd used a chain saw, it would have taken awhile. The plastic they use to "protect" the product appears to be stronger than what they build cars out of these days. And it's so cleverly bonded within the building-grade cardboard that there's no damn way you can separate the layers in order to handily remove the product within. This is ridiculous! If I was a feeble old woman instead of just the regular old woman I am, it would have been impossible to get that shit out of there.
Pill packaging has the same thing going on. Have you tried to pop a Benadryl out of its peel-the-paper-away-and-then-pop-the-pill-out-of-the-foil thing lately? If you were having an allergy attack of some sort, you'd be in full blown anaphylactic shock before you finally got that pill out of there. And why must pills, from the aforementioned Benadryl to Zantac be packaged like that? And then the little cards holding the pills are all nestled in a cardboard box. WHY CAN'T THEY JUST PUT THE FUCKING PILLS IN A FUCKING BOTTLE WITH A FUCKING LID ON IT?
Let's save a tree or two, folks.
Things just keep happening in this world that make no sense to me. Last night Mr. Moon and I were watching one of the most absurd shows on TV and they kept advertising a new show that's going to be premiering soon which is all actual real recordings of 911 calls.
"Who in the world would want to watch that?" Mr. Moon asked. Just the ads for it were making us anxious and panicky.
"Well hell," I said. "WE'RE watching DUCK DYNASTY!"
"Good point," he said.
Haven't watched Duck Dynasty? You probably do not need to. However, if you start, you might get hooked. It's about a family who got rich making duck calls. If you don't know what a duck call is, quit reading now. This is not the show for you. They all look a little bit like ZZ Tops guys. Well, the men. Somehow (money?) they all managed to marry gorgeous women who, although they may sound like they are from where they are, which is Louisiana, look like they probably know their way around a Platinum Visa. The menfolk like to hunt and fish and they mostly wear cammo and so yes, we would fit right into this family. On one of the episodes, one of the sons was burning leaves in his front yard and his wife got on his ass and said that once again, they were going to get in trouble with the homeowners association. Did he not remember all the hell that broke loose when he cleaned a deer on the back of his truck in the front yard which terrorized the neighbor children? He replied that maybe if some of those neighbors actually cleaned some of their own meat in front of their kids they wouldn't be so damn terrorized.
Hard to beat that logic.
Here's a clip where the daddy of the family talks about his wife, the matriarch of the family and gives advice about how to maintain a good marriage.
Now see? I can relate to this shit. Except for the frog legs thing. I told Mr. Moon last night that there is no way in hell ever, ever, EVER that I am going to cook or eat frog legs and that's just the way it is.
He looked stricken.
He's getting ready right now to go deer hunting up in Georgia for the weekend. I have finally made my peace, after twenty-nine years of knowing him, with venison. Venison is fine. I know how to cook it now. I appreciate it for the good meat it is. I know that when hunting season comes along I have to stop using scented laundry detergent. I have washed mountains of cammo in our years together. As you may recall, my husband spent a week last summer hunting for alligator. No, he did not get one, but it was a possibility. And I really don't know if I would have tried to cook that alligator or not, had he actually captured one. Thank god it's a moot point at this point.
But my line is drawn at bullfrogs. No way in hell.
How did I get from packaging to the cooking of bullfrogs? I don't know. Oh wait. Yes I do. I was talking about all the things that go on which I do not understand.
Let me just sum it up for you: Their name is Legion.
And I will no more be watching a show with actual 911 calls on it than I will be cooking bullfrogs. However, a little deer meat, a little Duck Dynasty? Yes. I can handle that.
All right. I need to go take a walk and at some point today I'll be shaving my legs with my brand new one million dollar razor which took me twenty minutes to get out of the package. Once again I'll be a hunting widow for the weekend but that's okay. I am married to a man who loves to hunt but I think that like the old man on Duck Dynasty, my husband loves and appreciates me for who I am, quirks and all. Just like I love and appreciate him for who he is. I may be baffled by a lot of things, but I am quite sure about that.