May I Vent For a Moment?

This is Me (Yes, it is the tiniest swimsuit picture I could find)This is what the world says I should beDoes anyone see anything wrong with this?

Okay. So I went for my first full on bikini/leg wax today. What the EFF? Do we women honestly do this stuff to ourselves on purpose? Is it some greater conspiracy of self torture and mutilation? An ends to make sure others are in more pain than the rest of us? These are all questions I had as I sat in the waiting room, contemplating getting my hair pulled out follicle by follicle.

This is what I decided.

Mankind, in general, is against anything that is natural. Let me explain.

HAIR.
WE HAVE HAIR! WE are BORN with it. There must be some purpose for having it. Maybe protection from the elements, proof that we are part animal, or something. So what does society tell us is wrong?

To HAVE HAIR!

Why?
Why is this?
I don't know. All I know is that I sat calmly by as I was tortured for an hour and ten minutes (yes, that is how long it took) all the while cussing and freaking-freak-freakering in my mind.

SKIN COLOR
I am naturally white. I CAN'T HELP IT. My lineage is from northern Europe. No one in my family--since the beginning of time--has been able to tan. In fact, we are the opposite of tan. We freckle. Not just sprinkles across our nose either. I'm talking full freckle frontal attack. So what does society say I should be?

TAN of course.

Because of this, I went and had my first fake tan ever last year. I stunk. My clothes turned orange. And after a day at the beach, all the fake orange-ness washed off my feet and ankles, making me look like I hung out at the beach in tube socks most days. It wasn't fair. I can't help it if I DON'T TAN.

Yet I paid the money, I exfoliated, and stook with my arms out like a scarecrow for fifteen minutes as a woman I'd never met sprayed liquid onto my nakedness.

WEIGHT
Look back through my family tree. I'm talking clear back to my Great Greats. They were all chubby (at least the women were). Even my grandmother who starved and practically died crossing the plains was a bit on the plump side. Spare tires, chunky cheeks, thunder thighs. . . it's all there baby. YET. What am I supposed to be? That's right.

A SIZE ZERO. ZERO!

I don't think this is possible. I think that even if all I had left were skin clinging to bone that I could wear a size zero.

And so I say-- IT IS FRUSTRATING!

Why must I be skinny, tan, and hairless when it is entirely against my genetic makeup to be so?

I do not have the answer to this question. I'm just saying. . . IT SUCKS!

There.

POINT MADE.

I guess I'll go eat some leafy greens, while getting fake baked, and having my face tweezed. Because this is my way of RAGING AGAINST THE MACHINE. I conform to it.

But what about you?

What do you do to RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE?