OK, God. We need to talk.

It occurs to me that since I’ll probably be making your acquaintance face to face sometime in the next decade or so, we have to get a few things straight. If you have plans for me sooner – like next year, or next month, or Saturday – then this is definitely the right time.

I’m pretty sure I was one of your animal creatures before you sent me out into the world again – in this body. Full disclosure, here, sir: many of those parts are no longer in the shape they were when you doled them out.

Could I have been a bird in another lifetime? I really do enjoy my time up in the sky, and I always had a certain comfort factor when airborne. And truthfully, I can dependably find the grub. I have a well-developed food-finding gene, so maybe I was a robin? That would explain why they nest near me every year. But I’m not flitting around so well these days. My flitter is rusty.

Maybe it makes more sense that I was a four-legged animal? The way my back hurts these days, I’m not sure that being upright ever came naturally to this particular set of bones. Wait, I think I read that cats and dogs suffer arthritis? That probably means all quadrupeds do. Wild animals have to forage for food AND fight arthritis? That’s a lousy deal. When I forage, I just have to hang onto the shopping cart.

While it is fun thinking about whether I was a giraffe, a butterfly, or a sand crab, there are some specifics that we must be address before my next go-round.

First, it’s about the legs. What were you thinking? I was standing in the wrong line the day you were passing out the nice-looking gams. Straight legs, no curve to the calves, and thick ankles? And that’s only talking about the part that shows! Not funny. You must have spent some time in the Steinway piano studios, perfecting their sturdy legs, and had a few left over. Plus, during those important years when mini-skirts were in, and I had … these?

Okay, okay, God. Yes, they’ve been durable, and always got me where I needed to go. But I was so grateful when many of your talented design people finally allowed us to wear slacks. Women in skirts and heels are attractive, but I’m just not comfortable being a participant. Next time, OK?

Oh, and some nicer skin would be a bonus. That bumpy red teenage junk that you sent was horrible – a real test. I’ve never figured out why you dispense acne to us just when we are so unsure of EVERYTHING. You need to rethink the timing on that one. Or, better yet, a little advice, do away with it. Eventually, it cleared up, but it was a long haul. The final results are mixed.

A quick, story, my Lord: I was boarding passengers on a flight one day when a French film producer stepped through the door. He stopped, looked me over from my hat to my heels and pronounced judgment. He grabbed my cheek, turned it and said to his companion, “Look at zis. Zee bones, zay are beautiful. Zee skin is an atrocity, but zee bones are v-a-a-a-a ry nice.” He whipped his hand away dismissively and walked away, shaking his head. I guess he thought everyone wanted to be in the movies.

One last big issue, Lord. The next time you’re passing out bonus items, could you please give the new version of me an immune system? This one shoulda been on deep discount. Almost useless. Tonsilitis a dozen times as a kid, mostly with strep. Flues. Pneumonias. And almost every February a bronchitis that would floor a Sumo wrestler. Then this Covid nonsense? What was up with that? Was I really supposed to have it twice? Fuggedaboudit. You can do better.

All of this whining is really a friendly request. I mean, I’m very grateful for the straight teeth, the working eyes and ears, and the healthy head of hair. I’m sure you had a reason for turning it white so early, but I guess there’s a lot I’ll never know.

Yes, thank you for all the good working parts. After I arrive at the pearly gates (fingers crossed) and you polish me up a bit for the next sojourn, don’t forget the cute calves and curvy ankles. Okey dokey? Thanks, buddy. I knew you’d understand.

Marcy O’Brien lives in Warren with her spousal roommate, Dear Richard, and her psychotic Maine Coon cat, Finian. She can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.