Weddings. You know how people say, “Every woman has been dreaming of her wedding day since she was a little girl!”? Not me. I’ve literally never once fantasized about a wedding or a white dress or a ring or any of that stuff. (Actually, someone I know has cornered Tim more than once and told him that he “needs” to ask me to marry him because they “know” it’s what I want. Never has this person ever asked me if that’s what I want. Spoiler alert: It’s not! So please fuck off with that nonsense.) Which leads me to…
Diamonds. Really any expensive jewelry for that matter. I’m allergic to most metals, so I can’t/don’t really wear jewelry anyway. Maybe that’s part of it. Why covet something that’s just going to give me a raging case of contact dermatitis? But it’s almost like when I was created, they were like, “Alrighty… Little sugar, little spice, little everyth- ah shit. We’re out of ‘Everything Nice.’ Hm. Just throw in some beef jerky, I guess.” I do like sparkles, though. Nothing makes me happier than one of those super tacky Grandma sweaters that’s just decked out in sequins.
Drivers that speed past you just to get to an intersection where the light is already red. Maybe they think it’s a race? Congrats, buddy! You won! Your prize is a pair of gilded TruckNutz™!
Carpet. It would be pretty gross if you had a rug in your house that you never really washed because it was bolted to the floor, right? Except that is exactly what carpet is! This goes double for carpet in bathrooms. No, no, and no.
People that bag their dog’s poop, but then leave the poop bag on the trail. I’m all for picking up after your mutt — after all, people that let their dogs deuce right on the trail and don’t pick it up are going to a special Hell where they spend eternity balls-deep in dogshit — but after you bag it, you’re supposed to THROW IT AWAY, JANICE. That’s why there are garbage cans strategically placed along the trail, in case you were wondering. Instead you’ve created a sort of excrement time-capsule. Wait, wait. A time CRAPsule. (ZING!) In a thousand years, that bag will still be there, and so will the Pomeranian feces you’ve sealed inside.