A Letter of Love … Perhaps??

Dear Frinkle Files,


Now that I finally have your attention – I do have your attention right – focus – okay – with me?

Right, now where was I? …. Aah yes, I’m dying!

Well, you know how when we were 13, and you wanted to be a mother. Immediately. I’d like to say thank you for not. Firstly, if you had, we’d probably not be having this conversation right now, because our parents would have kicked out butt – BIG TIME – although I’m sure we would’ve had our five minutes of fame in the press. But I digress.

So you wanted to be a mother and we managed to hold off. Then when we were 18, same thing, because then we thought, “we’re adults and responsible, and of course, we can be a mother”. Perhaps we wouldn’t have got our butt kicked, but we certainly would have been removed from ‘Favourite Daughter’ status

All through our 20’s, again, same thing, except it would’ve been okay to become a mama then and not risk being kicked out of the will completely.

Now. We’re in our 30s.

Let me rephrase that.

Now. We’re in our 30s.  (Just as I thought. There is no way to rephrase that to make it sound better).  We have to deal with the fact that I’m dying.  At a rapid pace. Like how fast the hare had to run in order to try and catch the tortoise when he realized he was going to lose the race. That’s fast. Just think how fast those little fluffy ears were bouncing as he bounded across the meadow!! Seriously!

Okay. And FOCUS!

Not only am I dying, but we have NO prospects lined up to use me before I crinkle up like a prune and give up the ghost completely.

So. I have no solutions for our ‘problem’. I simply wanted to bring my apparent (according to the experts remember) impending death to your attention.

Yours Unused.

Your Ovaries xxx


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