As is my want when traveling through the dread country of grocery stores I read all the labels, lament with the Kardashians on all the tabloids and grind my teeth in anger over the pointless vitamins array. It goes without saying that it is a pure joy to find oneself in the hair colour aisle where dozens of glossily coifed women advertise their merchandise with exotic tittles as Bold Crimson or Autumn Gold. Certainly the imagination takes flight as the heart flutters dreamily.
I am not adverse to the Tea section either with such tittles as Darjeeling Gold, Ceylon Bold or Arabica Distinct. The heart wanders in an out the halls of far flung distant dreams. . .then oh right I need eggs.
Why am I telling you this? Well the last time I took part in such a venture and as I waved farewell to the shimmery women I ventured into the soaps and body wash section; in particular the part of said section that is dedicated to enticing men. This is always a pitifully small component compared to the women’s section mostly, I think, because men are too stupid to be subject to too much choice. I digress I apologize.
This male soap section loomed and I ignored most of it and, by now, only slightly dismayed by the fact that men are still buying “Axe” because nothing says fresh armpits like something named after that which hews wood or bodies depending on ones psycho bent. is great. . .makes so much sense. As I say, there I wandered lonely as a cloud when suddenly I stopped dead in my tracks and gazed upon a face and body wash for men named “Wolfthorn”. I mean bloody hell what a stupid name! Apart from the immense contradiction of men and body wash that might just as well have been dubbed Wolfdick there is no correlation between something as semi civilised as ablutionary supplements and wolves.
Distressed I snatched up a copy of Hello magazine and wept over Middleton’s hat choices. There is no hope men are doomed to fade away into oblivion carrying their Wolfdick deodorant whilst women remain glossy and smelling of honey bees.