Dear Miss P,

What is going on with you? I keep thinking you're coming to visit and you never do. I've had the tell-tale weepiness, insatiable cravings for chocolate, and boobs that feel like punching bags, however, you never show. If I actually had penetration happening in this lifetime, I would be worried, but unless this is an immaculate conception, I'm not harboring a fetus.

Anyway, you should come back. You make me feel like a healthy and plentiful woman. Kinda like the cornucopia centerpiece at the first thanksgiving with 12 zealous Native American men drooling over my bounty. If you could get back to normal functioning that would be great.

Although the idea of babywipes makes me want to throw up at this point in my life, I would like to think that my eggs aren't drying up and rotting just yet. Thanks.

Much Obliged,
A