Dear Irma,

Your description of the perils of being a woman and having to pop a squat to answer nature's call was not only spot-on, but the funniest fucking thing I've read in a long time. Thank you for bringing a small spot of light into my current dark, hungover, wounded-ego, depressive, missing-my-car life. But you know what else you forgot to mention that sucks about being a woman? Cramming your feet into tall, sexy heels that kill your feet until you are hobbling like an 83-year-old cripple, or you (in a drunken disgust) rip the shoes off and decide to walk down the streets of wherever barefoot, thereby risking broken glass, stray pebbles, and hep C.

Am I right?
R