Hey, God. It’s me, Dan. Yes, the same Dan who stopped going to synagogue after he promised a temple full of friends and family on the day of his bar mitzvah that he would continue his Jewish education. But that was a long time ago. Let’s let bygones be bygones. I realize that we haven’t spoken in a while, and I also get that you have a lot on your plate these days, but I come to you today with a question: Why did you make my butt so hairy?

I acknowledge that my grievance is a rather small one. And yet, I still can’t help feeling like the nature of this wooly predicament raises larger questions. Why would you — an omnibenevolent, omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent deity — bestow these hirsute buttocks upon me? If you do everything for a reason, then to what end or purpose have you done this to me?

What is this point of this indignity, of me having such a shaggy problem down there? It serves no adaptive purpose. I reap no benefit from having this dense foliage. The area is plenty warm, even without hair. Having hair there serves no real purpose except to create the problem of fecal matter getting stuck in the anal thicket every time I take a shit.

If I have a packet of wet wipes handy I can more or less deal with it, but even then, I need to use a few wipes to get the area sufficiently clean. If I just have your standard dry toilet paper to work with, undoubtedly I will have to pull up my pants knowing full well that there is still kaka in the anal copse no matter how many times I wipe.

Sometimes the only solution is to hop in the shower and hose down the whole crime scene. There have been times when I’ve been with a significant other, gone to the bathroom to poop, then had no other choice but to invent some pretense for hopping in the shower so I could wash away the debris. Let me assure you; there’s nothing that puts a kibosh on sexy time faster than a butt forest full of doo-doo.

I suppose I could always shave my hairy ass crack or get it waxed, but the former is only a makeshift solution, and the latter is expensive and painful. I’ve had an excruciating enough time and parted with enough money getting my back waxed in the past. I can only imagine how the sensitive flesh twixt my cheeks would respond to such rough treatment. And whether I shave or wax, I know from contending with my back hair that I will have to keep doing so regularly in order to prevent regrowth.

Maybe laser treatment is an option, but in all honesty, I can’t recall seeing asshole laser-hair removal on the menu of services at any esthetician I’ve ever patronized.

So why would you do this to me? Have I committed some sin that has made you curse me with abundant ass hair as a consequence? What am I supposed to learn from this?

Because it’s not like this is some major Job-like trial. At the risk of sounding blasphemous, this seems like a rather petty thing for you, the Almighty, to do: “And you, my son, will have to contend with coils of inconvenient asshair and the attendant hygienic chores for the rest of your days.” How is having whorls of dark hair adorning my anus supposed to make me a better man? What virtues am I supposed to acquire from this?

Or how is my abundant endowment of asshair a part of divine design? I can’t help but wonder what greater good in the rich tapestry of the world is served by me having these great whorls of dark hair billowing out from between my butt cheeks. I have a tough time believing that a world where I have a veritable shit-trapping bush on my ass for some inexplicable reason is “the best of all possible worlds.”

Is the fact that you have meted out this undue allotment of hair around my unholiest of holes supposed to inspire awe in me at your might and inscrutability? If that’s the case, just based on what I’ve read about some of your past work, I feel like you could do a bit better.

Will I have to wait until Judgment Day to get the answers to my questions? What sort of sick sense of humor do you have? Are you more akin to a divine watchmaker or a kid with a magnifying glass hovering menacingly over an anthill?

Maybe your workings will always remain shrouded in mystery to us mere mortals. Maybe we’re playing checkers while you’re up there playing chess. Or maybe the conception of you as an omnibenevolent creator is not the one best suited to explaining the presence of something like my personal proliferation of butt lettuce.

Anyway, God, thanks for listening. While I continue to pursue the answers to these difficult questions, or wait for you to provide me some insight, I might need to make an appointment at European Wax Center.