Dear Universe,
I have a few things I’d like to discuss with you…
1. At what point did it seem like a good idea to sabotage my knees so any attempt at a regular exercise regime was doomed to failure?
2. When did you decide to relocate the hair from the top of my husband’s head to my chin?
3. This law of gravity thing, I pride myself on being law abiding, but I really think that some things should be exempt; at least two that I can think of offhand.
4. I’m pretty sure you knew I was going to live this long so why arrange things so the warrantees expire just when I was getting the hang of it?
In short, Universe, I don’t particularly enjoy your sense of humour but in the absence of any other Universes to choose from, you seem to have a mortal lock on the monopoly. So, I will continue to inhabit you but only under duress.
Sincerely
The Writer at the Bottom of the Well
“This is an automated out of office reply. Thank you for your letter to the Universe. I will be on vacation and away from the office for the next millennia. Your message is important to us and will be answered, in the order in which it was received, as soon as I return. Thank you”
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