If My Body Had a Customer Complaint Department
Dear Brain,
Why did you remember something embarrassing from 1997 but forget why I walked into the kitchen?
Why do I know the theme song from The Brady Bunch, but I can't remember the name of the person I just met two minutes ago?
And why are we worrying about a conversation that has not happened with a person I may never meet? We have enough actual problems. Why are you creating imaginary ones and putting them at the top of the priority list?
Frankly, your filing system seems chaotic.
Dear Unconscious,
Why do I still have dreams about failing an exam, usually involving math, and then failing the class?
I haven't taken a math class in almost thirty years. Is this a warning? A metaphor? Do I secretly think I'm a failure? Or are you just replaying old episodes because you've run out of material?
I'd appreciate some clarification.
Dear Stomach,
Why are you hungry when you're not hungry?
I know I just ate. You know I just ate. Yet somehow, twenty minutes later, you're sending me notifications about snacks.
Also, will you ever actually be full, or is this a subscription service that never ends?
Dear Ear, Nose, and Throat,
Why do you save your worst allergies for the nicest days of the year?
I wait six months for beautiful weather, step outside, and suddenly my nose acts like it's trying to escape my face.
And why does my nose run every time I eat? Do you realize how embarrassing that is? One day I'm going to be on a date, and my nose is going to arrive at my meal before I do.
Dear Body Hair,
We need to discuss your recent relocation project.
Why has the hair on my legs largely retired while new hairs have started appearing on my chin?
Who approved this transfer?
And why are these chin hairs so determined? They aren't hairs anymore. They're tiny steel cables. Every time I remove one, it feels like we're engaged in hand-to-hand combat.
Photo by Himanshu Dewangan on Unsplash
Dear Joints,
What exactly is all this noise?
When did standing up become a percussion performance?
Why do I get a brand-new pain every morning? I feel like you're introducing limited-edition aches just to keep things interesting.
Dear Bladder,
Why do I suddenly have to know where every bathroom is?
Why is it that if I have to pee like a racehorse, I can hold it in until that final moment when I see the toilet?
The second I put the key in my front door, you act like we've entered the final round of a game show.
Dear Eyes,
Why is the menu getting smaller every year?
Why did I have to put my phone font on geriatric mode so people can read my text messages from across the room?
I used to brag that I had 20/20 vision. Why have you betrayed me now?
And why do restaurants insist on printing menus in a font size usually reserved for legal disclaimers and ransom notes?
Dear Sleep Department,
Why am I exhausted all day but wide awake at 3:17 a.m.?
Why did you give me sleep apnea? I don’t deserve this.
Why did you think it was OK to torture me with a mask and a tube?
It is so not sexy.
Nothing says romance quite like showing up to bed looking like you're preparing for a moon landing.
Photo by Lilou Thioulouse on Unsplash
Dear Lower Back,
What in God’s name did I do to offend you?
Why are you constantly signaling me to sit down? I have to live a life.
Why does walking sometimes feel like an Olympic sport?
Dear Body,
Why are you slowing down so quickly?
Why am I tired all the time?
Why don't I want to move as much?
And perhaps most importantly, why did nobody explain that aging isn't one dramatic event?
It's a series of small surprises.
One day you can sit on the floor without thinking about it. The next day, getting back up requires a strategic plan, momentum, and possibly a witness.
I would like to file a formal complaint.
Unfortunately, the complaint department appears to be part of the body.
Based on my experience so far, I don't expect a response.
nina
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Join us as we discuss different humorous and serious aspects of body hair and all its entanglements.