No more douching or feminine spray...just their rank, smelly pussies. No pads or tampons. It’s “free bleeding” and “moon” or “diva” cups. Yuck. You’re lucky if the even wear panties.
They certainly don’t wear bras anymore. Got to whip out those udders at a moment’s notice to tit-feed their crotch fruit. And don’t even think of asking them to be discreet about it. No, they want the whole enchiladas to flop out while they glare at you, daring you to react.
Maternity clothes? Nope. They walk around in tube tops at 9-months pregnant, waddling around with their protruding bellies. Dressing for the occasion is generally a thing of the past. They seem to no longer be able to tell the difference between dressing for business and dressing for the nightclub.
Dieting and looking trim? No, today it’s “healthy at any size,” with “any size” apparently meaning the size of a humpback whale. And they’ll only wear clothes that show of every roll of fat on their corpulent bodies.
And the fat ones are even more militantly anti-hygiene. So we get to reap the olfactory benefits of the festering sweat and gook hidden under their ample folds of flesh and I’m their various nooks and crannies.
You just want to spray them with a fire extinguisher full of Febreze whenever you see these sows coming.