I’m going to keep this brief.
Tomorrow I will shed my nymphal skin and exoskeleton and burst forth in all of my winged adult mayfly glory. I’ll have a tiny, vulnerable body and no functioning mouth parts, so if a fish doesn’t eat me within a few minutes, I’ll starve to death pretty quickly after that. If anyone who cares about me happens to read this message before my big day, here is what I would like for my birthday:
1. I’d like to fuck another mayfly.
2. Just in case that first wish wasn’t clear, I mainly just want to go to Pound Town with a nice lady mayfly before every member of my mayfly generation is ripped to shreds by some violent force of nature.
3. Don’t worry about cake or a candle. Being confronted with cake I couldn’t eat and a candle I couldn’t blow out would only send me spiraling down a black hole of depression and severely reduce my chances of fucking another mayfly. Some paper hats might be nice, though.
4. No sparklers, either. If one errant flash of fire were to land on my embarrassingly soft exoskeleton, I would pop like the head of that Nazi at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.


