Come on, Internet! or Marlo Thomas instilled some values

Time to update this stale medium where I either share family stories, complain about my responsibilities, or pontificate on whatever might have crept into the folds of my frontal lobe, lodging itself so deep I can't get it out EXCEPT FOR HERE.

When I go to the gym, I fall victim privy to the wall of televisions that motivate those who think watching an interview with Kathie Lee and Hooda and some washed up television actor really gets 'em going. I can't help but notice the various advertisements for teeth whitening, hair color, or Nutrisystem, all serenaded between my ear buds by the Ting Tings and Justin Timberlake.

Why do they keep telling me I shouldn't accept my body the way it is: prematurely grey; coffee stained teeth; the beginning laugh lines of almost 34 years of hilarity; my magnificent mama muffin top a sensational reminder of my thrice in a lifetime achievement of bringing three of the most amazing creatures into this world?

The programming begins again and there's now a woman on the morning show telling me How to Look Sexy at Any Age! Because she's actually going to convince me that wearing pantyhose with a built-in butt-pusher-upper fools anyone?

As women we are constantly told how imperfect we are. If we only had that creaseless forehead, the biggest boobs, a perfect shade of auburn that washed that grey right out of your hair, or teeth so white they're grey. On the one hand it's perfectly understood to buy a product that you think lifts your saggy ass. Yet the other hand is holding way too accessible plastic surgeons brought to you by E! and their exclusive zip code. Let me rephrase that. Those surgeons appear to be so accessible because they are on E! every time I sit down to fold yet another load of laundry. Sure, you and I get that these doctors are as exclusive as Oprah Winfrey. But to others their local alleyway knife wielding ICS certificate holding physician can achieve the same looks as Brazilian goon on E!.

Why are we a society dedicated to achieving a look resembling Barbie's plastic fantastic unchanging face? Mary Tyler Moore is an applaudable success story for that. We are actually supposed to believe we aren't awesome just the way we are. If you're unhealthy, get healthy. If you're looking for a fun new hair color, go for it. Cover your grey? Hell no! All those advertisements for products and purely cosmetic surgeries are a very painfully obvious symbol of corporate America making bank off our insecurities. Insecurities they've instilled within us.

You fellas can't escape it either. Balding men need not spray the tops of their gorgeous heads with black spray paint because that's no more persuasively plausible than butt lifting panty hose.

Excuse me while I high-five my stretchmarked muffin top and stuff it discretely back into my cords.