All of us have that one friend who must, must, must send you every chain letter, stupid men-hating jokes, cute animal pictures, and viral flotsam out there. As much as we loathe these emails, there are two we go back to because they’re just so damn funny, true and never get old.
Our top two classics in this category are complaint letters – Wendi Aarons complaining about ‘Always’ maxi pads to Brand Manager Mr. Thatcher. You must read the full letter on her site.
Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: “Have a Happy Period.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness—actual smiling, laughing happiness—is possible during a menstrual period?
And then of course is the complaint letter to Virgin’s Richard Branson about the hideous inflight Indian food.
I know it looks like a baaji but it’s in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you’ll be fascinated to hear that it wasn’t custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It’s only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.