Dear Mother Nature (Or: In Which I Am Aware Of My Shallowness.)

I've rarely had cause to be displeased with what you have gifted me^*. Overall, my body works^** and any longterm wonkiness can be mostly be attributed to my own clumsiness, really. I have never had a bad case of acne or even really got spots. Okay, I did spend my teenage years until I was 18 or so looking like a stick figure smuggling two oranges^*** before I was deemed worthy of receiving some curves, but all in all I've always been pretty happy with my body. So what if my ability to maintain my core body temperature without creative use of layering was on par with that of, say, a lone naked molerat? At least I would always be able to fit into the cool clothes! And whatever else happened, there'd never really be enough of me to sag once I got older, right? < /sarcasm>

One thing I'd like to query, though. I know that, as one gets older, one should expect certain changes. I am grateful that I now have some capacity for keeping myself warm (and the ability to actually put on some goddamned weight). It'd've been nice to have it switched on before I turned 31 as well, but better late than never. I'm also quite happy that you've seen fit to grace me with more curves as I started to approach thirty. Having hips and an arse that actually hang on to trousers without a belt is a novelty. One I also would not have minded before, but one takes what one can get. These are all things I appreciate about getting older.

What I do not appreciate (and I certainly do not understand) is your peculiar insistence that I need to have more hair. You're not making me grow a lovely fetching tabby fuzz all over my body. You're not giving me a fuller head of hair. No. That'd be too easy. Instead, you decide that what I really, truly need is more hair on my lower legs. And not just hair. We're talking a small forest here. What the fuck is with this? My lower legs are the least exposed parts of my body! I habitually wear over-knee socks and knee high boots, for pity's sake! I don't need my lower legs to look like there's at least half a yeti in my immediate bloodline. And dark hairs? Dark ones? Woman, I'm blonde! Did that just entirely pass you by?

I understand that as time goes by, certain patches of hair are supposed to become more unruly. It's just...I can't say I've ever heard people go 'just watch out for those leg hairs! They'll sneak up on you when you least expect them!'. I've been looking at my armpits suspiciously to make sure the hair's not about to eat my roll-on deodorant. I've been guarding against the day when I will I need a hedgetrimmer and whips to keep my pubes from leaping out of my pants and strangling the beloved in his sleep. I was not expecting a sneak attack from below the knees!

You're off my Christmas list, Mother Nature. Unless you're willing to pay for the amount of razors I'm going to need to keep this nascent jungle under control, in which case, I might consider waving hello to you on Boxing Day.

Little Love,

Me

^* Except for the occasional 'OMG HORMONES!' rollercoaster, but those come with the territory, I suppose.
^**Even though you did see fit to put weak backs into my genetic background. And gave me a sensitivity to sugar. And E numbers. Oh, and synthetic hormones. Thanks for that.
^***Small oranges, at that.

Dear Mother Nature (Or: In Which I Am Aware Of My Shallowness.)

I've rarely had cause to be displeased with what you have gifted me^*. Overall, my body works^** and any longterm wonkiness can be mostly be attributed to my own clumsiness, really. I have never had a bad case of acne or even really got spots. Okay, I did spend my teenage years until I was 18 or so looking like a stick figure smuggling two oranges^*** before I was deemed worthy of receiving some curves, but all in all I've always been pretty happy with my body. So what if my ability to maintain my core body temperature without creative use of layering was on par with that of, say, a lone naked molerat? At least I would always be able to fit into the cool clothes! And whatever else happened, there'd never really be enough of me to sag once I got older, right? < /sarcasm>

One thing I'd like to query, though. I know that, as one gets older, one should expect certain changes. I am grateful that I now have some capacity for keeping myself warm (and the ability to actually put on some goddamned weight). It'd've been nice to have it switched on before I turned 31 as well, but better late than never. I'm also quite happy that you've seen fit to grace me with more curves as I started to approach thirty. Having hips and an arse that actually hang on to trousers without a belt is a novelty. One I also would not have minded before, but one takes what one can get. These are all things I appreciate about getting older.

What I do not appreciate (and I certainly do not understand) is your peculiar insistence that I need to have more hair. You're not making me grow a lovely fetching tabby fuzz all over my body. You're not giving me a fuller head of hair. No. That'd be too easy. Instead, you decide that what I really, truly need is more hair on my lower legs. And not just hair. We're talking a small forest here. What the fuck is with this? My lower legs are the least exposed parts of my body! I habitually wear over-knee socks and knee high boots, for pity's sake! I don't need my lower legs to look like there's at least half a yeti in my immediate bloodline. And dark hairs? Dark ones? Woman, I'm blonde! Did that just entirely pass you by?

I understand that as time goes by, certain patches of hair are supposed to become more unruly. It's just...I can't say I've ever heard people go 'just watch out for those leg hairs! They'll sneak up on you when you least expect them!'. I've been looking at my armpits suspiciously to make sure the hair's not about to eat my roll-on deodorant. I've been guarding against the day when I will I need a hedgetrimmer and whips to keep my pubes from leaping out of my pants and strangling the beloved in his sleep. I was not expecting a sneak attack from below the knees!

You're off my Christmas list, Mother Nature. Unless you're willing to pay for the amount of razors I'm going to need to keep this nascent jungle under control, in which case, I might consider waving hello to you on Boxing Day.

Little Love,

Me

^* Except for the occasional 'OMG HORMONES!' rollercoaster, but those come with the territory, I suppose.
^**Even though you did see fit to put weak backs into my genetic background. And gave me a sensitivity to sugar. And E numbers. Oh, and synthetic hormones. Thanks for that.
^***Small oranges, at that.