Dear Body

Dear Body,

I’ve been thinking a lot about bodies lately. First, there was that ad during the Olympics that basically talks about marrying one’s body and staying with it “in sickness and health.” But as you know, Body, I’m already married, and while my Beloved farts more than you do, I’m not ready to go all French-opening-ceremony-menage-a-trois in this marriage with you. Then, there was the Olympics itself, in which we get to see people do incredible things with their bodies, like jump the height of 8.4 corgis in the air, do a 360º turn on a single arm on a pommel horse handle, and launch oneself over ten feet (ahem, 7 corgis) in the air to clear a bar only to knock it down with one’s giant dick.

And listen, Body, I know we shouldn’t be comparing. Every body is different and every body is special. I’ll never forget when, at a young, impressionable age, my daughter asked me why my thighs were so big. Rather than run away crying as I was wont to do, I confidently said, “So I can do all sorts of sporty things like jump high and run fast.” She then followed up with, “But why does Marie run so much faster than you and her thighs are so much smaller?” We showed her, Body! (Did we?)

But to be honest, this letter was inspired by some negative feelings I have about you. No, this isn’t about the thighs. It’s about the waking up to pee a half hour before my alarm clock. This is, and I can’t stress this enough, unacceptable. But, as I believe in giving constructive feedback wrapped in a compliment sandwich, let’s start with some positive feedback.

Great job on keepin’ on truckin’ for as long as you have. I know I’ve thrown a lot at you (nachos, copious amounts of Milwaukee’s Best circa 1993-1997, eating a block of cheese like it’s an apple, two pregnancies, one and a half Covids, and the Jalapeno Margarita Incident of 2010 to name a few), and you’ve coped miraculously well.

You may not be able to whip off your glasses and “pommel the f*ck out of that horse” on demand, but remember that time you ran for 3 years and 29 consecutive days (one of those days being a marathon) until you (I? we?) broke your toe by dropping a set of poker chips on it? And remember that other time you ran for 3 years and 164 consecutive days until you got Covid? Way to go, strong thighs!

But while Simone Biles is literally flying, your only gymnastics accomplishments involve bodily functions, like pooping in your leotard whilst in line for the beam or peeing on the sleeping bag-turned-gymnastics mat upon which you and Ngina practiced your floor routine set to Salt ‘n Pepa’s “None of Your Business” for an SNL-style sorority sketch. The point is, Body, we are having to poop/pee at inopportune times. In case that wasn’t clear, inopportune times include: waiting in line surrounded by our peers, while we are on a sleeping bag in our home tumbling to “If *I* wanna take a guy, home with me tonight, it’s none of yo business!” and in bed, half an hour before the alarm goes off. So, if you could cut the shit pee, I’d really appreciate it.

In conclusion, while you may not medal in any real Olympic sports, I appreciate the things you can do, like lifting a 60-pound Rottweiler mix into the back of a Ford Flex after he decided he just didn’t have it in him to lift himself that day, placing in the Top Ten* in the Stein Holding Competition at Point Sebago in 2023, or taking up tennis at the ripe old age of <age redacted> and getting moved up from being the best player in the Beginner Clinic to the worst in the Intermediate Clinic.

Keep up the good work! (Except for the peeing thing.)

Yours,

Natasha

*9th