What are they thinking?

As I sat in my bathroom shaving my legs the mysterious lady in black

sauntered into the room, jumped into the window and shot me a puzzled look from her bright golden eyes.  "What the heck do you think you're doing?" she seemed to say as she watched me carefully removing my hair.

You know, I do wonder what they think of the things we do.

We are pathetically lacking in hair, a protection from the elements.  So what do we do? Scrape it off, put on these ugly drapery things, fuss about having nothing to wear, rush out and come back with bags of more ugly woven things to cover our pathetic hairlessness.  If we would only let it grow, our hair might work, although based on the look from my lady in black she doubts it.

We are truly pathetic hunters.  We let perfectly good protein in the form of mice and bugs wander unharmed and come back with still more bags filled with meat and green things wrapped in plastic.  If we did capture the things on our own why didn't we eat them where we caught them rather than running the risk of a bigger hairless thing taking them from us while we carved them up or removed the leaves and wrapped thin in that clear stretchy stuff on weird trays?

And getting a drink of water is a large, drawn out process for us when there are plenty of pools to drink from throughout the lair.

As she sits beside me, on my white knitting, I know the mysterious lady in black has concluded that I, at least, am a hopeless case.