Tag Archives: humor

Do you want a piece of me? Holsbys birthday video.

22 Mar

Some of you may know that I used to be an actress.

Now, all of you can see why I gave it up.

You may also note, I have not given up being a total idiot.

Somethings will never change.

I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Your comments, and clicks, emails and love, mean more to me than I can express.

I’m also well chuffed I stuck something out for a year.

Happy Birthday KUWTH. You’re now approaching toddlerhood.

Linking up with WithSomeGrace, to flog myself silly. Go see what Mama G is up to this week.

Whoring around this week with Flash Blog Friday, just so I can flash while I flog. Check out the FBF hostess with the mostess at Twinkle In The Eye

10 Hipster Words You Need To Be Cool

19 Mar

Due to the simple fact that I’m a fairly uncool, almost middle aged person, I realised I needed to get a little jiggy with my hipster speak.

Sadly, I think jiggy went out in early 2000 when the Fresh Prince stopped being known for music and started making in-roads as a serious actor.

I thought I’d share a few spectacular Gen Y-isms that everyone should try to absorb into their vernacular, in order to up their cool rank. Drop this shizzle and you too can sound like your finger is somewhere near the pulse, if not actually on it.

1. Amazeballs

‘That dress makes your eyes look amazeballs’

Not sure how it came about, but can you imagine if you were the first person that ever put those two words together?
His friends would have laughed their arses off at him, and then started using it as an in joke…..and then it went viral.

Would the opposite be suckballs? Should be. I love that too.

Can I start a suckballs revolution?

That would be amazeballs.

2. Rack

A rack is boobs. How someone came up with that, I’ll never know but I guess it has something to do with the top rack.
I don’t really use rack, as I’m not a boob spotter, but I do use rig for the entire kit.

‘Check out his rig’

3. Totes

‘I think he’s a douche bag’ ‘Totes’

I bloody totes love totes. You know why?

Because I’m really important and busy. So busy that using the word totally in it’s entirety is just too time consuming for me.
Using the word totes frees me up more time for Facebooking.

'Gee Burt, your rack looks totes amazeballs in that ensemble!'

‘Gee Burt, your rack looks totes amazeballs in that ensemble!’

4. Povo

‘I’d love to go see One Direction but I’m, like, povo’

I haven’t used this one, personally, but I can absolutely see the value in it.
Especially if I was, like, totally poverty stricken.

5. LOL

Laughing is so unattractive and passe. Your mouth is wide open, you can see your tonsils, you may even snort or slap your thigh. Lolling is the way forward.

No one ever peed their pants lolling.

Pissing myself lolling......(need to work on my trout pout)

Pissing myself lolling……(need to work on my trout pout)

6. Grill

‘He was all up in my grill’

Your grill is your face, or more specifically, your teeth, but for some reason I always thought it was your arse.
Your arse is your trunk.

If you have your grill in someone’s trunk, you’d better hope they’re buying you dinner.

7. My bad

‘Shit, dude, my bad’

This one is a lame arse apology.

Instead of saying sorry, and meaning it, like a normal person, this is to be used when you want to sound flippant and like you don’t really give a flying…… now, in my opinion, if you’re in a position where you should be apologising, and you’re all blasé about it, someone is totes within their rights to punch you in the face.

'Did you just say MY BAD?????'

‘Did you just say MY BAD?????’

8. Shizz or shizzle

These two can have totally different meanings.

You have ‘fo’ shizzle, my nizzle’ means for sure. WTF a nizzle is, I have no damned idea and can not find anything on the net……however, when I googled shizzle I found this, which is way funnier than anything I could ever come up with -

A word most often abused horribly by inexperienced suburban white douche-bags who wish to give themselves some falsified counterfeit form of street-cred.

Pure ghetto gold.

That said, I often also use shizzle for its other meaning. A polite form of shit i.e. I talk a lot of shizzle.
I feel like it’s code so my Nana won’t know I’ve got a mouth like a trucker.

Now I know I have a mouth like a suburban white douche-bag trucker.

My favorite kind.

9. Chillax
‘I like to chillax with a bevereeseplatter’
Brilliant. An amalgamation of two of my favorite things. Chilling and relaxing.
Obviously, amalgamating can’t be done willy-nilly as you’ll sound like a twat and no one will know what you’re talking about.
10.Whatevs
‘It’s your turn to change the baby’s nappy’ ‘Whatevs’
My personal favourite. We all know that ‘whatevering’ someone is the ultimate dismissal, but an abbreviated whatever is about a million times ruder.
Use wisely though, if said in an argument, your argue-ee is well within their rights to bust your grill.

Have you got coolisms to add to my list… help me stay cool.

I need all the help I can get.

Hooking up with totes rad EssentiallyJess cos it’s Tuesday.

The Journey From Nappies to Undies……with a dash of bribery

3 Jan

20130103-074935.jpgIf you’re averse to poo stories, you should stop reading here, but let me at least say that this is a poo story that will have a happy ending.
Not all poo stories end so well, like that time in India that I thought it was safe to pass wind.

I’ve been very half-arsed about potty training D Man. I said I’d do it as soon as the weather warmed up, but summer was hot and cold and then raining, so we never really got consistent with pants off time.

We had a swazz on the potty here and there, and once there was an accidental nugget that even surprised him when he checked for a progress report.
Often, after a successful potty mission, he’d not want to go near the potty for days, almost freaked out by us throwing a part of him into the loo and flushing it away.

I’ve also noticed a shift in the way he feels about himself and his body.

My totally carefree little nudey angel has started to feel self-concious. It’s a bit sad.
It’s fair enough with the toilet business, no one has ever built a viewing platform in their toilet so ensure spectator comfort, but I’ve noticed his discomfort at other times too.
He’s become a bit shy about cruising around in the buff, especially if there are other people in the house, and he really, really REALLY doesn’t want his super-hot 20-year-old nanny to change his nappy.
No way, man.
He’s aware that nappies are not sexy.

I do not for one moment profess to be a parenting expert. In fact, I generally make it up as I go along and figure as long as I’m not intentionally creating neurosis in my soon-to-be adults, then I’m doing ok…….except it appears that perhaps I have unwittingly created a little ‘issue’ in my boy. I’ll get to that in a minute.

Now that D Man is T minus 5 days until DAYCARE, I decided I really needed to get serious about this potty business.

In the grand scheme of teaching little ones to use the throne, I think we’re about average for boys. D man is 2 and 8 months, and I know many boys that trained earlier, and I know many boys that trained later. I’m not fussed on what ‘everybody’ did because I knew that until now D Man hasn’t been totally ready, hence the minor success, then no luck for days.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is this – WE’RE WINNING!

I’d heard of people having success with bribery reward charts, so I thought I’d do us up a big old D MAN’S POTTY STICKER FABULOUSNESS chart. Points for wee wee, no points for my grammar, but he don’t care.
He gets rewarded by stickers for number 1s and when the ones add up to 5, he gets a small $2 present. When he does that 4 times through, he gets a big present.

A number 2 is an instant chocolate treat……but to be honest, we haven’t quite got there yet. There seems to be some reticence in that area. I’m not stressing but I’m finding myself singing the praises of scat (not to be confused with jazz scatting) after discovering that D Man is a bit embarrassed about the aroma of his expulsions.
We may, or may not, have made light-hearted jokes about needing a gas mask to change stinky pants, and I think our sensitive little soul is now self-conscious about something his father takes great pride in.
I tried to explain that everyone is a bit smelly, and it’s natural. I said I’m smelly, Nana is smelly and Oma is smelly too…..he earnestly looked at me is asked -

Peppa Pig?

I don’t think you all need a blow by blow breakdown of accidents, successes, stickers and presents, but I thought I’d write this in case anyone actually gives a shit that my little man is now, except for nights (anyone got advice on that?) out of nappies and in the cutest little jockey shorts you’ve ever seen.
Also, there is a possibility that you are training your little person and this post may revolutionise your life!

One kid down, one to go.

Hallefrickenlujah.

Waving A Rubber Chicken At The World.

16 Dec

rubber chickenI’ve been feeling decidedly un-funny lately. I love busting out a witty, quippy blog, but lately, I’ve not had a lot of meat on my funny bone.

I’m not sure, exactly, where my mirth went.

If funny is like serotonin, perhaps the last few months of amusing posts have been the equivalent of a three-day E bender and I’m in the midst of a funny come-down?
Surely, I haven’t used it up for good, cos it would suck if I had to go through life being profoundly un-funny.
Un-funny people are widely known to be bland, and please God, give me anything but bland.

I suppose, though, that humour is quite a subjective thing.

For instance, there are a number of very popular sit-coms that I have just never been about to get my head around. Big Bang Theory is one such show.

Many people, whose sense of humour I respect and chortle at, have said it’s actually very clever and I should give it a chance.
I simply cannot see the funny. A smirk? Maybe, but it ain’t Arrested Development.

Now, that’s funny.

A Never-Nude who wears denim shorts in the shower, a frozen banana stand and a magic show with ‘The Final Countdown’ as a soundtrack?
That shit is gold………and as much as I love it, Mister H doesn’t dig it.

He doesn’t think it’s funny.

So, it kind of begs the question; What is funny?

Why does one person think one thing is hilarious and someone else just doesn’t dig it? Is it intellect? Upbringing? Culture?

I personally find humor in the unexpected and the absurd……and farts. Also, I really hate canned laughter in comedies. Being told when to laugh is suggesting that I’m stupid. That I can’t work it out on my own. Who came up with that idea, to spell it out?
Somebody unconfident with their jocular prowess, no doubt.

E.B. White once wrote that “humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.”

You know yourself that trying to explain a joke to someone just completely kills every little element of surprise, which is the thing that holds the amusement. So, you finish explaining it to them and they go ‘Ah ha’ and generally still don’t laugh because although now they understand the joke, they don’t get it. Which was the issue in the first place.

Let’s have a look at radio, which is a bit of a hot topic at the moment.

Are prank calls funny? Well, I’d sincerely love to look down my nose and say, nooooooooo, prank calls are for chumps, but the answer there is yes. It’s not high-brow humor, but it can be side-splitting.
I can remember spending hours making prank calls as a kid…. and nearly wetting my dacks with laughter.

I once heard of one where a husband rang the radio station on air and had to answer some questions about his marriage. Then they called his wife and if her answers corresponded with her husband’s, then the lucky couple won a holiday.

The final question was ‘Where did you last have sex?’

The hubby got all embarrassed and explained that it was a bit kooky because his mother-in-law is staying with them at the moment and while she was in the shower, this very morning, they had a quicky on the kitchen table.

They called the wife and she breezed through all of the questions and then they got to the final question of their last coital encounter.

She balked. She went all awkward. She stuttered and stammered and she queried whether her husband had really told them that detail?

Her husband assured her, just tell the DJ the truth, and they were home and hosed on their tropical vacation.

She took a deep breath, and with a little giggle, she responded -

‘Up the arse’.

The DJ couldn’t speak for a full two minutes. The rumor is, he laughed so hard he thought he was having a heart attack. The couple won the holiday though. Presumably for not suing the radio station for the mortifying joke they had just become.

I can’t speak for you guys, but I think that’s pretty funny. It’s funny because it was totally unexpected…..and embarrassing.

I do find other people’s embarrassment funny……does that make me a monster?

Naaaaaah.

What of this latest 2DayFM gag?

Just in case you live in a tent it was where the DJ’s rang the English hospital that was treating Kate Middleton for chronic morning sickness and they posed as the Queen. The nurse on duty divulged personal information about the Duchess and in the subsequent shit-storm allegedly took her own life.

There is no way anyone could have known what would happen in that phone conversation, and I dare say they would have been hoping for something unexpected and/or absurd. I’m not going to pass judgement on this situation, the whole world appears to have judged them enough.

I’m sad that the DJ’s are now getting death threats. That’s hardly going to fix things.

Anyway, I feel like a lot of unfunny things have been going on lately, and I reckon I’m not far away from pulling a rubber chicken on the Universe and waving it wildly.
Life is funny.

Even many of the shit bits are funny eventually.

Christmas Wishlist

13 Dec

Ok, let me preface this entire post by saying I don’t actually need anything this year.

My children are happy and healthy, and the recent return of my engagement ring is really present enough for this year…..now that I have that lovely sentiment out of the way, there are maybe a couple of little things that would improve the quality of my life.

I would love to be altruistic and ask everyone to buy a village a goat and call it Mrs H, or send school books to impoverished lands, and, of course, I definitely  encourage this behaviour, but I do love to receive a little somethin’ somethin’ under the Christmas tree, so I can jump up early on Christmas morning and with bleary eyes and morning breath, tear into the brightly coloured paper and have just a few moments of magic before the gluttonous festivities commence.

I am a consumer.

I love to give gifts and I love to receive gifts.

The thing is, whenever someone says, ‘what would you like for Christmas?’ I go completely blank and I can’t think of a damned thing I want.
I thought I’d pop together a few suggestions, in case you wanted to put something under my tree……

Robo-Vacuum

Robo-Vacuum

ROBO-VACUUM

I have made no secret about how I feel about vacuuming. I’m also a bit sick of the cat. I wonder if this is the perfect answer???

Grass Thongs

Grass Thongs

GRASS THONGS

I love walking bare foot in grass, but I’m finding that the grass out here in the ‘burbs is a veritable minefield. If i’m not hobbling from bindis, I’m getting dog-poo between my bare toes. These are the perfect solution and they can be worn year round.

Finger Food Picker

Finger Food Picker

FINGER FOOD PICKER

Eating with your hands is soooo 2012. This year, when I host parties, I want to dazzle everyone with some finger-food pickers. Hell, I could still eat even if all my other fingers were broken. One must be most mindful of not picking ones nose though, as no-one wants to dash their hostess with the mostess to Emergency with a punctured septum.

Wine Glass Bottle

Wine Glass Bottle

BOTTLE GLASS

I don’t think this really needs much of an explanation, but I definitely need one of these, please, Santa. Tell those elves that I might even need two.

Oops, I Did It Again Apron

Oops, I Did It Again Apron

BRITTANY APRON

I’m not really one for role play, but I reckon I could channel a little Brittany with an apron like this. Ironically, instead of protecting my clothes whilst cooking, it’s more likely to hide the banana and vomit stained atrocity underneath.

Bacon Marmalade

Bacon Marmalade

BACON MARMALADE

I love bacon. I love marmalade. Hello, pig gastronomy.

Wine Rack Sports Bra

Wine Rack Sports Bra

WINE RACK SPORTS BRA

This is freaking awesome!!! I love exercise. It really helps me with my mood, with my energy levels and with my sanity. I love wine for pretty much the same reason, and now it’s entirely possible to do a high-intensity session without spilling a drop.

Result!

Toastie Hand Warmers

Toastie Hand Warmers

TOASTIE HAND WARMERS

This house was really cold last winter and I often found as I was typing my fingers were frozen…..not with these toastie little rippers.
You plug them into your USB holes and they are heated. Who comes up with the stuff? Totally awesome genius’, ya.

Eat Fit Cutlery

Eat Fit Cutlery

EAT FIT CUTLERY

Once again, I love to eat and I love to work out….with time being so precious, why wouldn’t I try to fit more of both into my day? I think it may be awkward when my Pop-Eye arms bust out of my clothes because I’ve done too many reps over the silly season.

Sound Proof Headphones

Sound Proof Headphones

SOUND PROOF HEADPHONES

I probably won’t even listen to music. Silence truly is golden…..or I might crank a little ‘Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough’ while I vacuum.

Oh, that’s right, I won’t need to vacuum with my Robo-Vac.

Can’t wait for Christmas morning!

What are you hoping to see under your tree this year?

Monster Wanted For Questioning

14 Nov

A monster is wanted for questioning in relation to an incident that has left a family shocked and frightened in the early hours of this morning.

In a Southern Sydney suburb at about 5.30am this morning, the victim claims he heard a loud, scary monster under his bed.

Another key witness at the scene claims to have heard the cat, Mister Fluffy Pants, running down the hall on the wooden floor at approximately the same time. It is uncertain if the cat was running away from the monster, or if it is indeed a case of mistaken identity.

Authorities tried to question Mister Fluffy Pants but he was hiding under the bed and unavailable for comment at this time.

When shown a line-up of photographs, the victim was unable to positively identify the perpetrator with the only definite points of identification being that the monster had large feet, big teeth and sharp claws.
Obviously, all monsters do not look alike, however, this is not much for the authorities to lead their investigation with.

It is believed that it may be the same monster that has been terrorising other families in the area but until authorities question him, it is too early to say if he is a serial monster.

The victim was treated for shock and terror at the scene before being moved shortly after to Mummy and Daddy’s bed, where no one proceeded to get any sleep. After a short time authorities thoroughly searched the area and pronounced it clear of all monsters and the victim could return to his room.

Sadly, he was unable to return to sleep and is feeling very fractious and upset today. Understandably.

Another key witness at the scene was heard to comment ‘Bloody typical’ as it is believed she was having the best night’s sleep in 7 months with the family’s younger child having slept all the way through for the second time ever.

If you see this monster, do not approach him as he may be dangerous. If you have any information that leads to the arrest of this monster you may be entitled to a reward.

Harbouring this monster will be severely dealt with by authorities as it is a serious offence in all states of Australia.

HOLSBY TV – The True Masterchefs of Australia.

3 Oct

I once made a crack on my Facebook page that if the Masterchef television show wanted a real challenge they should throw a toddler and a bag of mega blocks into the studio kitchen.

I wasn’t joking.

People often ask me how I manage to juggle the blog, and the kids, and the cooking…..you really want to know?

Check it out here  - Episode 1 of Holsby TV 

At One With My Inner Wookie.

20 Aug

image sourceMe in a few years

I was breast-feeding KiKi the other day, and as I gazed down at her perfect alabaster skin, I noticed she had a single, dark hair on her upper lip.
A tad for young a ‘tache and months premature for Movember, was my initial thought, so I gently went to brush it off her lip when I realised it was indeed attached.

To. My. Nipple.

WTF is up with that????

Upon closer inspection, I did not discover any more than that one, single, protruding breast whisker (that no longer exists, FYI, for approx 4 weeks at least), but it made me sit back and take stock of the hirsute invasion I’m noticing on my previously silky-smooth lady body.

A prime example of this infiltration is (I tell you this in great confidence because it’s a bit of a secret) I used to have just one hair, slightly pubic, on my chinny, chin, chin.
One hair is a talking point, provided it is faithfully tweezed. A laughable matter of which to talk to your friends about, and more often than not, you’d find you’re not alone…..however, my one, single whisker now has a couple of mates.
Where one rogue whisker is funny, three is a hop, skip and a jump away from a goddamn beard. A mere stone’s throw from a permanent gig at the circus like my gorgeous friend pictured here.

I love how it states ‘ALIVE’….don’t reckon taxidermy is big in the carni community. source

When did this happen? How did this happen??
Is it not enough that my boobs are no longer perky but pointing towards the ground and I have saggy knees to worry about? Do I really have to grow random hairs like some old gorilla??

While we’re on the matter, what’s going on on the backs of my thighs?
The fronts of my thighs are so hairless that I’ve never had to shave or wax them. There simply is no hair to speak of there, except perhaps very fine body hair that really doesn’t count unless you’ve removing a Band-Aid……so why would I even look at the backs of my legs? Surely they match the front, right?
WRONG!
It seems I have thigh mullets. It’s all business at the front, and party at the back, and I’m not happy about it. Not one bit. It’s not like it’s knee to bum cleft or anything, more like a patch or a toupee on the back of my legs. The problem with it’s proximity, though, is that it could be mistaken for a small animal hiding under my skirt.

I’m not even going to talk about my bikini-line. I’ve boycotted the Brazilian after reading Caitlin Moran’s book (I wrote about it here). I mean, in truth, there is no longer a bikini line, as such, but it’s winter so no members of the public will be subjected to it, and anyone who may get a private viewing would, frankly, be so stoked at the opportunity that I doubt they’d notice the Mirkin factory I’m harbouring.
That’s the thing about winter, though right? You have a couple of months where you don’t have to take yourself off to the Wax Emporium (AKA The Pubic Inquisition) and suffer the indignity of your legs in the air whilst someone applies scalding hot wax to your nethers, only to remove it a second later sometimes taking a layer of labia with it.

Why, oh why, do smooth bits feel so much nicer??? It really doesn’t seem fair. I’ll add it to the design fault list.
No, definitely something to skip in the winter months, particularly if you’re married with kids, because let’s face it, you’d feel ripped off if you did get the wax and then didn’t get laid before it was stubble again. We all know hairy minge increases the chances of rumpy, right?
Bring back the bush.

So, if you find yourself gazing down at your human fur leggings, thinking how you’ve really let yourself go this winter, just relax, and spare a thought for me, because I’m fast becoming a Wookie.

What should my Wookie name be, I wonder?

Toddler versus Tabby. An action adventure tale of oral hygiene.

23 Jul

I recently promised one of my readers some action/adventure as I was a little stuck in the mummy blog rut. How much childbirth and boob stuff can you really blab on about? You want adventure? You want action?

Try cleaning your kids teeth. That’s friggin’ action.

There are high speed chases that occassionally end in collisions and people flying through the air, there’s explosive language, and even sporadic nudity, his, mine, both – anything goes.

I often think that I would have more luck cleaning Mister Fluffy Pants’ (yeah, that’s my cat’s name – what of it???) teeth than I do D Man’s, although, I would no doubt end up with slightly clawed forearms. I somehow feel that the overall trauma would be somewhat less. Of course, I would have to buy the cat his own toothbrush as sharing one with your cat would be weird……as it stands, I’m stuck attempting to clean a very uncooperative toddler’s teeth with varying degrees of NO success.
I googled for some technique tips and read of one woman who grabs her tortured kid in a head lock but that seems altogether a tad ballistic, especially when you take into consideration that this round of teeth with fall out eventually anyway, so perhaps World Wrestling Federation tactics are not the way forward? Surely, it will only cause negative associations with teeth cleaning, or a pro-wrestler with dazzlingly sparkly chompers who enters the ring with a Dora the Explorer toothbrush?

It’s highly recommended to brush your toddler’s teeth twice a day, and to clean each tooth thoroughly, including the backs…… INCLUDING THE BACKS???. How the hell are you supposed to get the backs, twice a day?  I’m working on the theory that if I clean each tooth in his head once a week, we’re doing ok. I’d love it if D Man was compliant, with a flip top head for easy access, but he’s usually hopping about, grabbing at the toothbrush and anything else within arms reach (contact solution, hand soap, toilet roll, which, FYI, is never the same once it’s landed under a running tap).
I also really loved the handy tip about turning the entire tooth cleaning experience into a game. Obviously, D Man got that memo before I did because he’s turned it into an awesome game of Catch Me If You Can, Loser.

I’ve got a little system going on. Basically, I squirt toothpaste on a little Ben 10 electric toothbrush, whilst weilding a mini-mouth manual brush in my other hand. When he opens his mouth to suck the toothpaste off the one he’s holding (whichever one takes his fancy on the day) I lever the remaining brush into his gob and brush as swiftly as I can. He’s bites it, he blows raspberries, then he manically shakes his head from side to side like he’s front row at a Nirvana concert and then he bolts.
I’ve given up chasing him and decided that we can try again in the evening. Not becuase I don’t care about his oral hygene, I just know that this will not be the only battle of the day and I need to conserve my battle strategies.

The experts, who hand out advice on this matter, also recommend no lollies. They stick to the teeth and the sugar has a little party that boogies on down in baby teeth. We rarely give him any lollies so that’s under control, but they also mention that dried fruit is the root of all dental sin, as it’s as full of sugar and sticky as a lolly and attaches it’s sticky goodness to tiny teeth and creates oral havoc….. Oh….. I see. We eat sultanas and dried apricots all the time, am I doing something bad???  Dang. I love dried apricots. He loves dried apricots. I think that this pearly set of milk teeth may be in big trouble.

Thankfully, we need not worry too greatly, as he’ll get a whole new Hollywood smile by the time he’s 10 or so (guessing, no idea) because I really do need to conserve my energy for more dramatic action/adventure scenes.

NB I would have dearly loved to post a picture of D Man and Fluffy Pants, but to say their relationship is precarious is an understatement. D Man loves Pants. He wants to pat him, rub his nose in his fur, and have tea parties with him. Pants hates D Man and wishes he was never born. I hate those one sided relationships.

A Letter Of Complaint to the Manufacturers of the Female Anatomy.

20 Jul barbie

To Whom It May Concern at the Lady Factory,

I’d like to register a formal complaint, please, because I sincerely believe that your engineers were a tad hasty in the signing off of this project.
I would like to preface my complaint by saying I truly feel that many features are perfect. The lady lumps and curvy bits are generally to my liking, and I have to say that on the whole our genitalia is considerably less hilarious in appearance than our male counterparts.

Generally speaking, the female reproductive system is truly amazing, however, I do feel that the method of expelling a baby from the body could do with some tweaking.
In theory, your current methods works quite well, but there are a few fundamental design issues that ought to be addressed for the evolution of the next prototypes.

Primarily, I’m referring to the certainty that a vagina does not comfortably fit a watermelon. If the dislodgement process were currently perfect, ladies would not experience issues such as squeezing drops of wee whilst sneezing, hemorrhoids, cervixes falling out, rectal walls tearing, or any other number of unspeakable indignities. Please be advised that the nether regions of the female ought never see the glint of a sewing needle doing fancy stitch work.
EVER.

In future, please add more elastin to the mix for female epidermis, to ensure skin is never traumatised by sudden growth during pregnancy as ladies truly have enough body issues in a bikini without added stress of stretch marks from a process that is beyond their control.

Furthermore, after this process is complete and the fairer sex moves into the feeding stage, I would like to draw your attention to the major planning balls up that is mastitis. Whilst one is trying to provide nutrition to ones progeny, one ought not be afflicted by a searingly exquisite agony that makes one want to have an immediate mastectomy.
If you insist that this glitch cannot be fixed, at least work on some better treatment methods because the old ‘cabbage in the bra’ trick, leaves ladies smelling like a cross between a Russian deli and a fart.
While you’re perfecting the area of the breast, feel free to ensure that the nipple region is, in fact, not going to be blistered, torn or in any way mauled when continuously gummed and sucked for a 12 month period, as is the recommended usage period.

I have had extensive experience with this current model, and done boundless research in the public field, so if you require further feedback or would care to discuss any of these issues, please don’t hesitate to get in touch,

Yours sincerely,

An ex-bikini wearing, stitched up, sore breasted customer.

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