An open letter to
Mother Nature

by RAF KATIGBAK

Dear Mother Nature,

How long have we known each other? Pretty much forever, right? We’ve had some good times haven’t we? Remember that Christmas Eve when I was a kid and it was totally green and I wished for snow and you hooked me up? That was pretty awesome. And that time in high school I went camping and the whole drive up it was raining like hell and you brought out some sun long enough for me and Carly Simpson to go skinny-dipping? Girl, you really did me a solid. Yup, we’ve been pretty good buddies over the years. That’s why it’s confusing me even more the way you’ve been acting lately. Quite frankly Mother Nature, you’ve become a total bitch.

You’ve been picking on me, kicking my ass for months and the way you acted last weekend was the last straw. Don’t think I don’t understand you. I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to show me who’s boss, like, Oh you think you’re in charge? Well, guess who needs a shovel just to dig themselves out of their apartment? I think I got the point when you made it so cold in January that my genitalia retracted so far into my lower abdomen I was legally a woman. Fine, I get it, you’re calling the shots, you win. You’re the boss. What do you want, a medal? Well, guess what, you’re a total biotch too, you want a medal for that? Jeez, even if you had a medal, you don’t even have a neck to hang it around.

Okay I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I didn’t mean to make fun of your not having a body. And yes, I admit you’ve kind of been getting fucked ever since that industrial revolution thing, but man, that was, like, years ago, and I didn’t invent pollution so why do you have to be such a total ho-bag about it? Okay sure, I laughed a little when I heard Moby got stuck in a train outside of Montreal for nine hours because of your snowy little temper tantrum, but c’mon, half a metre of snow?! In March?! That’s just overkill and frankly it makes you look a little petty.

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes snowstorms are fun, when you’re a kid and you get a snow day, or you’re in a cabin cuddling up with your girlfriend by the fire, it’s all nice and cozy and shit. But guess what? I’ve long dropped out of school, I’m single and I don’t have a cabin. I have an apartment. And it’s freezing, thanks to you.

What’s this beef you have with me? Was it that time in high school when I went through two CFC-dosing cans of Final Net every week just to get that half-assed rock-solid spiky/pompadour hairdo? Well, I already got crippling acne and my scalp burned every time I touched it, so I think we’re pretty much even on that one. Is it because your lakes and rivers are filled with estrogen from the birth control wizzed out by girls every day? Well, last time I checked I didn’t have a vagina, so it’s obviously not my fault. Sure, I could be more of an eco-warrior, but I’m sorry, composting? If I want a box of rotting garbage in my apartment, I’ll take a look at the oranges I’ve had sitting under my kitchen counter since the Mulroney administration.

Or maybe it’s not me. Maybe you and Jack Frost are having some kind of torrid love affair and this is some kind of sick masochistic fantasy you’ve cooked up. Do you get off on watching people in fashionable shoes fall on their asses? Well, I hope guys are really blowing your meteorological load over it.

Fine, I know I’m in Canada, it’s supposed to be cold. So I should either put up with it or move to Florida, but what am I, an octogenarian addicted to Viagra with a penchant for pastel tracksuits? Actually, scratch the last two. Correct me if I’m wrong but I think a man has every right to live his life with normal seasons and not get humped up the butt by a spring snowstorm.

You’re really only hurting yourself by acting this way. I think it’s childish and embarrassing. You think your bullying tactics will earn you more respect? Well, you’re wrong. In fact, I’ve got a little surprise for you. I’m going to start a pro-global warming group whose only mission will be to make your life a living hell. I’m buying massive overstock of CFC-leaking hairspray and for the last while have been consuming an inordinate amount of river-polluting birth control. And while I may look like a freak with my highly flammable spiky-coif and hormonally induced man-boobs, I think we all know who’ll have the last laugh.

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca