Dear insects, bugs, and anything that flies, crawls, or moves in nature,
Could you… not? Yeah the whole buzzing noise, huge legs, tiny eyes: I’m really not a fan. I try to exit the subdued interiors and am swarmed—like a Sephora when little girls discover there’s a new skincare product that will ruin their skin—by miniscule, infuriating bugs around my entire figure. Not a tremendous incentive for my once-a-moon’s cycle occasion of withdrawing from my abode. May I inquire why must you force my poor, suffering mind to endure your whole buzzing pandemonium? Your path of flight always seems to intersect with the vicinity of my auricle, the orifices with which I smell, and finally terminate on my lower extremities that propel me forward in daily life. Ought I to remind you of the phenomenon named “personal space?” I find my center of concentration pivot to you, your obnoxious reverberations and physical approaches, stealing my ability to focus on the planet of dirt surrounding me. I am considering filing a legal order against your “kind”; please reconsider your actions.
Furthermore, in the most respectful and elegant phrasing possible, why must your legs and antennae be so elongated? I doubt your queens’ genetics allowed all of your population to become 6’5” basketball players in your otherworldly metropolises. Simply describing the uncomfortable appearance of you evokes the memory of the quick-paced scuttle of your legs wriggling on my physique. Plus, your antennae are immensely off putting. Must you really constantly vellicate them? Kindly, I request for your limbs to remain at rest at all times.
Hyperborean regards,
Mia Hanuska