Found this note pinned to a suddenly prominent layer of striated muscle tissue. I fear this bodes ill.

Dear Priscilla,

I've always been good to you, all things considered. Remember when you were four and you tripped and split your lower lip open on the edge of a glass table and you had to have plastic surgery and the doctors thought you would probably have a scar? Even though I usually scar easily, I pulled through for you, baby, and now no one would guess. I got you through the majority of your teenage years without major acne troubles. I don't sunburn easily, saving you some potential pain there. I do my job: I keep your internal organs in check, I keep your body temperature regulated (and without unsightly sweat stains), and I grant you the blessing of the sense of touch.

All this and more! What did I ever ask of you? Nothing. Hear that? Nothing. And what do you do to me? You abuse me, you doodle on me in pen, you stifle and suffocate me with nasty pancake makeup for all those theatre productions of yours. But hey, I could tolerate that. I'm designed to take a little abuse. But this? No, no, this time you've gone too far.

Blue liquid latex body paint. What were you THINKING, woman?

Here I am, doing my best to keep you looking sooooo good, and you decide you want to slather me in nasty, sticky, artificial GOOP just so you can look cool for a few hours. Whatever happened to all those Halloween costumes you used to wear, huh? Angua? A jedi? Special Agent Fox Mulder? There are plenty of costumes out there that don't require being blue, you know. Do a sistah a favor next time and think of your poor, neglected, overworked skin before you go off painting yourself weird colors, kapeesh?

Now, I'm doing this for your own good. I'm taking a brief holiday to get some R&R, maybe some therapy, maybe take a little time off to regrow some of those eyebrows. Maybe, by the time I come back, you'll have a proper respect for the largest organ of your body.

Dermally yours,
Your Skin