Open letter from Ms
Peggy Legg This is an explanation to those friends and family who have experienced mysterious switches of their body parts. This effect is especially noticeable in January. You may have read of the scare story about the man whose kidneys were stolen while he was passed out. Well, read on. While
the kidney story was an urban myth, my story is true - it occurs to me practically every day. My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and woke
up with someone else's
thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been mine for years? Whose thighs were these and what happened to
mine? I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose. Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves
struck again. My butt was next. I know it was the same gang, because they took pains to match my new rear end (although badly attached at least three inches lower than my original) to the thighs they
stuck me with earlier. Now, my rear end complimented my legs, lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long skirts would stay in fashion. It was two years ago when I realized my arms had been switched. One morning I was fixing my hair and I watched horrified but fascinated as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was really getting scary. My body was being
replaced one section at a time. How clever and fiendish. Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age is supposed to reap, unnoticed, something like maturity. NO, I was being attacked repeatedly and
without warning. In despair I gave up my T-shirts. What could they do to me next? My poor neck disappeared more quickly than the Thanksgiving turkey it now resembled. That's
why I decided to tell my
story. I can't
take on the medical profession by myself. Women of the world, wake up and smell the coffee. That really isn't
plastic that those surgeons are using. You KNOW where they are getting those
replacement part, don't
you? The next time you suspect someone has had a face '
, look again. Was it lifted from you? I think I finally found my thighs...and I hope Cindy Crawford paid a really good
price for them! This is not a hoax. This is happening to women in every town every night. WARN YOUR FRIENDS
women's body parts move. Yours alarmed Peggy Legg
To find out why we issue this warning, read further:
Do you know - this person has moved in without me knowing it and I believe she is here for life.
Please be careful. This person has found her way into my
house and could also go to yours.
A very weird thing has happened. A strange old lady has moved into my house. I have no idea who she is, where she came from, or how she got in. I certainly did not invite
her. All I know is that one day she wasn't there, and the next day she was. She is a clever old lady and manages to keep out of sight for the most part, but whenever I pass a mirror, I catch a glimpse of
her. And, whenever I look in the mirror to check my appearance, there she is hogging the whole thing, completely obliterating my gorgeous face and body. This is very rude! I have tried screaming at her, but she
just screams back. The least she could do is offer to pay part of the rent, but no. Every once in a while, I find a £5 note stuck in a coat pocket, or some loose change under a sofa cushion, but it is not
nearly enough. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think she is stealing money from me. I go to the ATM and withdraw £100, and a few days later, it's all gone! I certainly don't spend money that fast, so
I can only conclude the old lady is pilfering from me. You'd think she would spend some of that money to buy wrinkle cream. And money isn't the only thing I think she is stealing. Food seems to disappear at
an alarming rate-especially the good stuff like ice cream, biscuits, and sweets. She must have a real sweet tooth, but she'd better watch it, because she is really packing on the pounds. I suspect she realises
this, and to make herself feel better, she is tampering with my scale to make me think I am putting on weight, too. For an old lady, she is quite childish. She likes to play nasty games, like going into my
wardrobes when I'm not home and altering my clothes so they don't fit. And she messes with my files and papers so I can't find anything. This is particularly annoying since I am extremely neat and organised. She has found other imaginative ways to annoy me. She gets into my mail, newspapers, and magazines before I do and blurs the print so I can't read it. And she has done something really sinister to the volume
controls on my TV, radio, and telephone. Now, all I hear are mumbles and whispers. She has done other things-like make my stairs steeper, my vacuum heavier and all the knob and taps harder to turn. She even
made my bed higher so that getting into and out of it is a real challenge. Lately, she has been fooling with my groceries before I put them away, applying glue to the lids, making it almost impossible for me
to open the jars. She has taken the fun out of shopping for clothes. When I try something on, she stands in front of the dressing room mirror and monopolises it. She looks totally ridiculous in some of those
outfits, plus, she keeps me from seeing how great they look on me. Just when I thought she couldn't get any meaner, she proved me wrong. She came along when I went to get my picture taken for my driver's
license, and just as the camera shutter clicked, she jumped in front of me! I hope she never finds out where you live.
He didn't like the casserole
And he didn't like my cake,
my biscuits were too hard
Not like his mother used to make.
perk the coffee right
He didn't like the stew,
I didn't mend his
The way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer
was looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and
smacked him one Like his mother used to do.
I've been teaching now for about fifteen years. I have two kids myself, but
the best birth story I know is the one I saw in my own second grade classroom a
few years back. When I was a kid, I loved show-and-tell. So I always have a few sessions with
my students. It helps them get over shyness and usually, show-and-tell is pretty
tame. Kids bring in pet turtles, model airplanes, pictures of fish they catch,
stuff like that. And I never, ever place any boundaries or limitations on them.
If they want to lug it in to school and talk about it, they're welcome. Well, one day this little girl, Erica, a very bright, very outgoing kid,
takes her turn and waddles up to the front of the class with a pillow stuffed
under her sweater. She holds up a snapshot of an infant. 'This is Luke, my baby brother, and I'm
going to tell you about his birthday.' 'First, Mom and Dad made him as a symbol of their love, and then Dad put a
seed in my Mom's stomach, and Luke grew in there. He ate for nine months through
an umbrella cord.' She's standing there with her hands on the pillow, and I'm trying not to
laugh and wishing I had my camcorder with me. The kids are watching her in
amazement. 'Then, about two Saturdays ago, my Mom starts saying and going, 'Oh, Oh, Oh,
Oh!' Erica puts a hand behind her back and groans. 'She walked around the house
for, like an hour, 'Oh, oh, oh!' (Now this kid is doing a hysterical duck walk
and groaning.) 'My Dad called the middle wife. She delivers babies, but she
doesn't have a sign on the car like the Domino's man. They got my Mom to lie
down in bed like this.' (Then Erica lies down with her back against the wall.) 'And then, pop! My Mom had this bag of water she kept in there in case he got
thirsty, and it just blew up and spilled all over the bed, like psshhheew!'
(This kid has her legs spread with her little hands miming water flowing away.
It was too much!) 'Then the middle wife starts saying 'push, push,' and 'breathe, breathe. They
started counting, but never even got past ten. Then, all of a sudden, out comes
my brother. He was covered in yucky stuff that they all said it was from Mom's
play-center, so there must be a lot of toys inside there.' Then Erica stood up, took a big theatrical bow and returned to her seat. I'm
sure I applauded the loudest. Ever since then, when it's show-and-tell day, I
bring my camcorder, just in case another 'Middle Wife' comes along.
If my body were a car, this is the time I would be thinking about
trading it in for a newer model. I've got bumps and dents and scratches in my finish, and my paint
job is getting a little dull. But that's not the worst of it.
My headlights are out of focus, and it's especially hard to see
things up close.
My traction is not as graceful as it once was. I slip and slide and
skid and bump into things even in the best of weather.
My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins. It takes me hours to
reach my maximum speed. My fuel rate burns inefficiently.
But here's the very worst of it:
Almost every time I sneeze, cough or
laugh, either my radiator leaks or my exhaust backfires.
'My Body' was kindly sent in by Dave FoleyFootnote: Please send us your 'Women's parts' jokes
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