Dear Uterus:
I would like to remind you that you are NOT in charge of the universe. Furthermore, I repudiate your attempts at world domination. Stop it, just stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.
You are not entitled to dictate the terms of my whole life. While I may not be able to entirely prevent your interference in certain aspects, this does not give you grounds to take over entirely.
My appetite does not normally compel me to consume pizza and cookies by the boatload whilst bathing in a sea of hot fudge. Therefore you shall not incite these behaviors for 3-5 days each month, wreaking more havoc on my already puffy midsection.
Speaking of bloating, I banish your infernal power to inflict 2-3 pounds of water weight gain, and then to make it feel like 10 pounds. I’m pretty sure you’re subtly altering my wardrobe to amplify the effect, but I’m not giving in to your pressure to wear sweatpants to work. I will look stylish, even if I feel hideous.
I am henceforth reclaiming control over my lacrimal ducts, so that you may no longer cause me to sob at news stories, the outcomes of reality television or game shows, song lyrics, traffic jams, spilled milk, or the mere sight of baby clothes on racks at the store.
Furthermore, I’ve decided that cramps are just a physical manifestation of your tantrums when you don’t get your way on various issues. If I have to preemptively sedate you with Pamprin or Advil, even days in advance, so that I don’t end up in a fetal position unable to straighten myself up from my office floor, I’ll do it, so help me God. That is not an empty threat.
I could go on and on about specific incidents or the emotional impact of your domineering nature, but I’m hopeful that this public censure will improve your behavior and render further chastisement unnecessary.
I would thank you kindly to remember that you are but one small part of my body, and should not therefore take on disproportionate influence.
With hope for a better future relationship,
Me
