Sometimes women are rather frugal with their purchases.
This frugality forces the woman to shop at places such as the ever-popular Forever 21. In order to provide customers with $5 leggings, $2 tank tops, and jeans for $10.80, Forever 21 must outsource its production to foreign countries such as Vietnam.
Unfortunately for the female consumer, these new outsourced seamstresses are not very talented. This creates a certain fragility that comes with a $5 dress that was bought on a whim, only to sit in the back of the consumer’s closet next to those “special occasion” snakeskin pants and the senior prom dress that she just cannot seem to part with, partially because senior prom was where she first heard the summer 2012 hit “Call Me Maybe” and made wonderful memories* with her best friends.
_Very_ occasionally, a purchase is made at Forever 21 to which the buyer becomes rather attached. Let’s say, theoretically, an oversized white tunic with a sheer panel across the back that just _perfectly_ shows the wearer’s shoulder tattoo, so carefully chosen from an extensive Pinterest board titled “tatooooooo ideas!!! <333”.
Unfortunately, this top’s future holds extensive wear, especially on the days the woman changes her outfit from the first four white shirts she pulls from her closet, only to toss them carelessly onto the butterfly chair in her dorm which she just _had_ to have, yet has only sat in a total of four times throughout the entirety of her freshman year. This shirt, due to its light hue and coincidental repeated use on toasted ravioli day, will need to be cleansed of its stink and marinara stains at least once a week.
While this shirt will hold up to some degree in a mechanical washing machine, the dryer will literally tear it to shreds (“literally” used here in its literal meaning). In order to keep one’s top from splitting into three separate pieces which no amount of safety pins, glue, or painter’s tape could ever fix unless the wearer is aiming for a look somewhere between “‘90s grunge,” “space-age hipster,” and “vagrant,” the top will need to be hung to dry.
Disappointment sets in upon realization that hanging a shirt to dry does not, in fact, remove the wrinkles the way an hour-long spin in temperatures rivaling that of the Sahara can. Fortunately, the corporate geniuses at Downy created a magic liquid known as _Wrinkle Releaser._
Wrinkle Releaser is a girl’s third-best saving grace in times of need, coming just short to Starbucks gift cards and fro-yo. You simply spray it onto the items that are wrinkly, tug the damp wrinkles, and hang it up to dry while you go study for your Spanish exam**. _Voila._ The only downside of Wrinkle Releaser is the excess spray that seems to spread itself into an undetectable coating on a linoleum dorm-room floor.
This, combined with the most common of all stereotypical white-girl footwear — Old Navy brand flip flops — and a general lack of athleticism amongst the stereotypical white-girl community, creates the perfect storm for a banana peel-style fall, onto what can be referred to, for political correctness, as the “tush.”
_These issues, and many more (much more serious) problems, can be solved with the dissolution of the gender wage gap. I urge all of you to stand with me for women’s equal pay and to help prevent future girls from slipping on their Wrinkle Releaser-coated linoleum floors and breaking their legging-clad tushes._
*took selfies
**take more selfies
