The Terrible Trauma of Spatula Tush

Or, in the alternative, a heartfelt letter to Cosmo.

Dearest Cosmo,

We've been together a long, long time. I'm confident that I can't even count the number of hours I've spent curled up with you under a blanket to a backdrop of some terrible show on Bravo or another equally appalling channel. We've laughed together. We've cried together (well, no. We actually haven't done that...because that's just sad.) And throughout our history, you've had some pretty ridiculous advice and social commentary...most of which I won't go into here because no one needs to have the internet offend their delicate sensibilities.

Regardless, though, I really needed to comment on your advice to women in this month's edition, in which you urged them that men overwhelmingly frown upon having their bums spanked with spatulas during sex.

...as if this was really an issue.

...

...is this really an issue?

No...really Cosmo. Are there that many women out there who think to themselves while cooking dinner or baking dessert, "My what a sexy spatula. Not only does it look incredible while it seductively scrapes my brownie batter bowl, I think it'd really get me going if I could smack it across hubby's bum?" And is it such a raging epidemic that you need to issue a PSA against it? Because I'm not okay with that.

So.
Not.
Okay with that.

So Cosmo, I guess what I'm really trying to say is that you need to go back to basics that will really help women. You know. Like advising them on which boots will get them laid the fastest by drunken frat boys in dive bars and which eyeshadow they should use the following morning to hide dark under eye circles and self loathing. Please stop relating kitchen equipment to sex. It's just not okay. Spatulas belong in the kitchen basket, not in the boudoir.

With kind regards,
Me