When we first saw the "Only In A Woman's World!" cartoons, my girlfriends and I were like, "Finally!" It was like we could at long last just let go and exhale meaningfully while soft R & B music constantly plays, like Whitney Houston in that movie Waiting To Exhale Meaningfully While Soft R&B Music Constantly Plays. After years of watching other people be pandered to, now someone had finally, finally gotten around to pandering to us. It felt good.

And the four fab, funny fearlessly female gal pal characters? I mean, hello? It's like the writers were peering through the windows and taking notes during one of our many, many girls night in movies 'n gossip seshes. Thighmaster flying out and hitting the skinny mirror? Check. Assembling the troops because one of your best girls is crying about her hairdresser leaving? Double check. Sub-Golden-Girls hot flash humor? How many checks are there in the world? Put them all next to that one, please. They even got our baked potato hands right!

Which is why it stung more than water weight in the cankles when I found out that these four cartoon girlfriends that I had shared so much with—tears, calories, tedious vibrating cell phone gags—were actually nothing more than marketing tools! I felt so betrayed. I guess I should have known something was up when they put Flat Earth chips on the table as break-up comfort food instead of a pitcher of tangerine Flirtinis and 4 pints of Chubby Hubby. But still, I can't believe my sassiest cartoon gal pals are nothing more than shills for dirt-flavored chips. Is nothing sacred, Baked Lay's?

Instead of "Only in a woman's world!" they should have gone with, "If you lived in Ladytown, you'd be home by now."  Or "Chicks…am I right?"  Or just packaged the chips in pink, stiletto-shaped bags stamped "No boys allowed!" All strike the same condescending tone.

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