My Dearest Ovaries:
I have received, via central nervous system, your intent to acquire new cystic masses. Though busy with many other, more important things, I believe it necessary to fire off a word or two to caution you against such action.
You are both rounding a corner to 32 years old at this point and have long since outgrown the time when teenage tantrums like this warranted themselves. I too approach the same age and don’t need to be periodically reminded of your existence through pain. You are well aware that over the past few weeks, I’ve been busy attending your crosstown relatives The Heart and The Head and am too preoccupied with their state of being to care very much for your own petulant need of attention. In the past, I’ve been very good to you and have indulged almost every one of your dramatic whims, and so I don’t feel remiss in asking you to PLEASE JUST FUNCTION NORMALLY FOR ONCE.
You are pointedly aware, I know, that when you invite your friends The Cysts over, the mess they make doesn’t only affect your region of my lower abdomen, but your back alley neighbors The Intestines as well. The Intestines are historically ornery inhabitants and will be the first to call in a noise ordinance should you continue carousing, and I have no wish in dealing with the enforcers of that ordinance: The Cramps. They’re rude and power-hungry, and if their authority is questioned, will not hesitate seize the Pain Receptors, reminding us all just who is the boss in this biological system.
I remind you Cysts that you reside (free of charge, I might add) in my lower abdomen out of the goodness of the recently odd-functioning Heart. You provide me no benefit, and, as I have no intention of putting you to use, I will also have no qualm about evicting you should your antics persist.
Please view this letter as official notice of my intent to use a melon baller on you if you don’t pipe down and act right.
Your Landlord and Vehicle,