What's Wrong?

You want to know what’s wrong, why I’m so jittery all the time? I’ll tell you. It’s the egregious flaws in nature’s design of the female body. I mean a freshman at Pratt, for Christ’s sake, would have known better than to locate the portal to the world in such close proximity to the anus. On the order of something my plumber might try to get away with, this demoralizing arrangement has made the moment of one’s birth tantamount to exiting a subway station in downtown Jersey City. Yes, there may have been some practical justification for joining the genitalia and the birth canal—although I find it interesting that even the manufacturers of coke machines, and in a time of budget constraints, have managed to keep a respectful distance between the coin slot and the delivery bin. But at the very least these organs should have been positioned where the former would be quickly accessible, where the necessity to get undressed would have been eliminated.

(The spot I’d have chosen is the side of the neck, just above the clavicle.)