An Open Letter to Ms. Long Lean Limbs

Nonfiction by | April 29, 2012

Dear Ms. Long Lean Limbs,

Right off the bat, I would like to say that I have this unwavering need to decline your friend request on this social network site that we both subscribe to. For one thing, I have no idea who you are. At the same time, I doubt it very much that you know anything about me at all.

The truth is: before I saw your friend request in my message box, I was living a boring virtual and real life existence. I was actually pretending that the articles I was writing about would somehow change world views and rewrite history, despite the fact that my client had limited my online literary expertise to: how to cure athlete’s foot, and how to avoid smelly armpits, and how to eliminate other yeast-friendly environments on the human body.

In any case, your request to be my “friend” brings me back to my senses. Like most people who are over-saturated with useless information about smelly feet, perpetually damp armpits, and itching in places that are too embarrassing to scratch in public, the first thing I do is to peruse your social network profile.

I know. I know. Most people online would simply click the accept button and be done with it.

I have never subscribed to that practice, though. Blame it on bacterial growth or fungal infection or yeast developing in places where the sun never shines (not mine!) But I need to know if you are indeed someone I have once interacted with before I willingly suffer
through your status updates, your invitations to play silly online games, and your recommendations to try harmful programs that could ultimately ruin my computer software.

Unfortunately, aside from your unfamiliar name, the only thing I could access on your profile is a picture of your body, taken from the neck down with full emphasis on your long, impossibly lean legs. I must admit your seductive, albeit headless, pose on that black leather lounge chair is quite a come-on. I’m not a leg connoisseur myself, but you do have impressive limbs. I have to give you that.

Even your arms seem thin enough to make me wonder if you have enough skin, bone, and muscle to actually still own a pair of armpits.

Staring at your profile picture with your exotic sounding name, I began asking myself a long series of questions, like: have we met before? Are you a former client of mine or a fellow web content writer? How do you even know me?

Then my train of thought went: do you suffer from athlete’s foot? Do you get damp underarms that give off a nasty smell? Is your seductive sitting stance an indication that you suffer from yeast infection? Are those the reasons why you want to be my “friend”?

Admittedly, there was this one moment when I became jealous of your shapely, lean limbs. I look at my arms, and the first thing that comes to mind is: ham – Christmas ham, to be overly specific. I look down at my legs and feel the need to weep. From this vantage point, I can’t see much. My stomach is in the way—probably from eating too much ham. I extend my legs in front of me and the only description that I can give them is: short, stubby stumps.

Then I did what any normal, rational and sane person would do: I tried to imitate your seductive, headless pose.

I must say, failing spectacularly had never been so much fun.

First, I tried a really low camera angle. It showed my rather squat, square-shaped feet, and a pair of calves and thighs that could be rightfully classified under “regular ham” and “jumbo,” respectively.

After that, I tried a chest high shot to achieve that headless look.

All I got was a shot of my ample midsection, my chest, and meaty arms that look like – what else? – ham! On closer inspection, I noticed that my upper arms were attached to four fleshy folds that look like separate armpits on their own. No, wait! Make that six! No, that’s not right either. It’s more like I have two armpits on the left and three on the right.

What?

Apparently, my five-armpit picture was a result of poor lighting, blurring my right side, and a sitting posture not meant for people with ham-like arms. After that, I rummaged under my arms a bit to make sure I wasn’t hiding extra limbs there.

My last shot was the worst. It was knee high and showed everything my Mother said never to exhibit in public. Aside from ham-like arms and jumbo thighs, the picture showed a triangular place where the sun never shines.

Then, for reasons known only to you, Ms. Long Lean Limbs, you sent me another private message that said you wanted to acquire 5,000 social network “friends” by the end of the month.

Ah. Well, that explains a lot.

We obviously have never met before. You were never a client of mine or a web content writer I’ve previously worked with. And you certainly do not know anything about me other than the fact that we use the same social network site.

If that is the case, I would like to extend my thanks for considering me to be a possible addition to your massive list of people you do not know. I wish you all the best, Ms. Long Lean Limbs. No, I still won’t accept your friend invitation because I am extremely busy changing world views and rewriting history: one smelly foot, one damp armpit, and one problematic nether region at a time.

If ever you need an extra pair of armpits though, I have a pair plus one to spare.

Sincerely Not Yours,
Ms. Short Stubby Stumps


Rowena Rose Lee makes her home in Mintal. She is one of the newest members of the Davao Writers Guild.

5 thoughts on “An Open Letter to Ms. Long Lean Limbs”

  1. It’s exquisite, humurous, and entertaining. It made me think for a while, haha. 🙂

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