Tuesday, December 10, 2013
As the third born child of immigrant parents, I was genuinely concerned with how I spent my money. I grew up with hand-me-down toys and in hindsight, a window to my gayness was unlocked by playing with my older sister's Barbie. This Barbie, which I remember vividly, had the ability to change hair colour just by adding warm to luke-warm water to her hair. That colour was a cloudy blue.
Fuck, I hate gender controlled toys.
During my formative high school years and through college and university, I never, ever, once owned this simple contraption you would call: the lint roller. You know, I could have been a very punctual and studious-looking student. Instead, my mother would gleefully offer me a roll of tape because it really sufficiently suffices as a lint roller-cum-tool for putting up posters of TLC. Albeit, the process of gathering one's strength to conjure this contraption was not as simplistic as an actual lint roller. For one, the lint roller has a wand. A fucking wand that can ergonomically remove lint from the back of your jumper without a strain or assistance from your sibling.
A roll of tape, sans wand. Ergo, strenuous.
The lint roller, why do we buy it? We purchase said item because we want to appear presentable to the world, our peers and employers, that, you know, we can be put together and that we have enough disposable income to splurge on a four dollar tool that is essentially, tape. Takes a lot of work to not look like shit.
So really, is the lint roller elitist? Probably... not. But to my mother, I think so.
(Disclosure: I bought this one for $0.50 on sale. Otherwise, I would have not been compelled to buy it.)