An Open Letter to My Body

Dear Body:

You and I have been together for over 46 years. The majority of the time we’ve gotten along nicely, but lately I am beginning to wonder what the hell you are you up to.

I admit there have been times when I’ve pushed the envelope, so to say, consuming a beer or four more than you could handle. You got even though, with an achy head, upset stomach and the occasional unremembered bruise.

There were also the occasions when I couldn’t shut down and relax so I kept you up all night; tossing and turning until right before the alarm went off. You were understanding, getting up and going on with a new day, even though you wanted to sleep.

And though I no longer do it, there have been times when I’ve stayed out in the sun too long causing you burns, and blisters and peeling skin.
I know there are more examples of my disregard, but let’s take a look at some of your flaws.

When you get all bloated each month I’m conscious of your discomfort and wear baggy clothes, even if they aren’t the most flattering.

As you grow hair darker than what it should be, I fix it. And let’s not forget the times you’ve been all on my face screaming, “Look at me!” sprouting pimples for all to see, and I’ve quietly ‘covered up’ your lack of discretion.

And your big faux pas; letting our breasts down, and I do mean down. Who made the appointment and got them fixed? Yeah, that would be me.
Now I’m not keeping score but I do believe we’re pretty even. We’ve matured enough to stop this nonsense.

So I now have to ask, “What have I done lately to get you all hot and bothered?” Basically, what is up with these hot flashes? You don’t even give me fair warning when to expect them. Can you not feel the HEAT? Are you begging me for a tropical vacation, is that it?

What if I book a tropical vacation and promise to use sunscreen, not drink too many pina coladas and let you relax? Will you cease then? Because if you will, I am so calling William Shatner to book the hotel.