Dear Men of the World

Today I was almost spit on as I was walking down the street. This disgusting act was not aimed at me, but it would have landed upon me if I had not been careful. This harrowing experience has prompted me to put angry fingers to keys. . .

Dear Men of the World,

Why is it that you feel every fluid that is produced by your body is a substance that people would want you to share? Apparently, life is different with a ding-a-ling, but I for one (and I feel comfortable speaking here for all women), do not have a desire to see or come in contact with any liquid your body produces. Somewhere along the line, your less-evolved brains made some misguided conclusion in regards to this subject, and have been harassing the finer sex with it ever since. We do not, in fact, feel overjoyed watching you pee, spit, sweat, or release the Underpants Navy on or upon poor, unsuspecting civil structures or landscape-- are you trying to punish the bush? Let's leave it at this: unless we ask (which we probably won't), let's have a rule that states that this swill that you are so fond of stays only within your dwelling. Furthermore, this nectar that you produce with such pride should stay primarily in the bathroom, unless asked otherwise. And let's face it: you have a hard enough time containing things even in a controlled environment. I can say, with almost complete certainty, that you are many steps away from awesome, and in an effort to raise your rank-- do this for me. Please. I beg you. If something of yours gets on me again, I will flip a lid. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Sidney