A Letter

Dear Septum,

You don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you my feelings. See, even though you've been with me all my life, I never really understood what you meant to me until recently.

You've been pretty quiet all this time. No offense, but I didn't even know you existed. In fact, I found out from Google that you were supposed to disappear before I was born. I won't say I'm offended that you wanted to stick around and make a home in my uterus; it's just that you weren't really invited, were you? Kudos to you for some Grade A squatting. You basically lived rent-free for 25 years, and that's no small feat.

I understand you might have felt a bit threatened when you got a roommate in the uterus. But, Septum, you need to realize that you had overstayed your welcome. The uterus is supposed to be a place for a baby, and you just couldn't let go. You refused to budge and the roommate had no choice but to leave. Was that right? In your heart of inadequately vascularized fibrous hearts, you knew that was not the best choice.

You had one chance, Septum, and you blew it. That's why I invited a surgeon to slice and vaporize you into oblivion. So this is my farewell to you, O Uterine Septum. I hardly knew you, yet you made an impression on my life that will never go away. I won't miss you.

Sincerely,

Your Former Landlady