The Showgirl

“Dear Creator, Please forgive the informality of an email, but for eighteen years I have been trying to contact your customer service department with a hard drive issue, to no avail. And now that it is too late, I would like to share my disappointment and ingratitude, directly. I am contacting you because there is a problem that could have been rectified. After my parents received me, the problem had already manifested itself. Simply put, someone placed me into the wrong body… someone in YOUR department! Much to my chagrin, I was handed guns, dressed in a baseball hat, encouraged to climb trees and fist fight. All I REALLY wanted was to coddle dolls, wear little pink dresses, and play with other little girls. And what a cruel joke locker rooms were… to make me an athlete? And I tried, despite your mocking glares and scathing laughter, not to stare at the beautiful forms. I expressed interest in tough cars, and found myself an appropriate girlfriend… all the while meeting Ronald in the cab of his truck under night’s veil. Creator, I am what happens when a computer’s hard drive is not installed correctly; I could no longer sustain the stress. You forced me to reach into my own files and defragment; I had to remove those who did not compute… and part with your creations that should have never been there. And even though my chassis looks different now, it is a pleasure to wake up every day. I’m beautiful! My confidence is invigorating, while my alarming popularity is overwhelming; I get hundreds of tweets… “what are you?” and “who are you?” and “Where are you?” The answer? In spite of your vain attempts to keep me repressed… I am, and always will be The Showgirl. Respectfully, Insanity is boundless; you should have answered me.”