Dear Mum and Dad

Dear Mum and Dad,
So I know I'm supposed to be a grown up now. I know, I know, I'm 25. Yeah, I know, at this point I should be able to like, make my own bed and I don't know, earn my own money and shit. And yes, I realise that I should be taking responsibility for myself and doing all other kinds of wonderful adult-like things that I'm pretty sure I haven't worked out yet. Like paying bills. And rent. But here's the thing. I'm on a fucking Kibbutz. Sorry Mum, I know you don't like me to swear when I write. And the thing is, right? The thing is I don't have to pay bills here. Or even cook. Or do my own laundry. Hell, they even supply us with free condoms and tampons here. I'm probably not learning the kind of life skills that would help me out in say, Brisbane. But on the plus side I can chop a mean carrot, or potato, or onion. My chopping skills are supreme. I'm so glad I went to university. That degree is really helping me out here. No seriously. My rapidly accruing HECS debt is so worth it.
Now this may be a testament to my immaturity. I'm pretty sure it is. I mean begging your parents in the public domain is not exactly the most mature and rational thing to do. But I'm going to do it anyway. Remember how before I went away, I put all of my clothes in boxes? Yeah? Cardboard ones. Brownish. You'll recognise them when you see them. I think I may have even neatly stacked them in my cupboard so they'd be out of the way. That was nice of me, don't you think? I think it was. Well the thing is, I'm freezing my tits off here. And seeing as 1) I'm still yet to write the definitive Gen Y novel; 2) I earn 11 Shekels a day; and 3) I'm 200 meters from the Lebanon border, and public transport here is not exactly, how do you say, existent, I can't really get anywhere to buy clothes. You wouldn't want me to hitchhike on my lonesome, would you? That's not safe! No, not safe at all. Not just because there are crazy people out there and I am, as you know, very, very pretty. But also because Israelis drive like tweakers on speed. I think the aim of their driving is to see just how fast they can go with their wheels still on the ground. And trust me, it's faster than you think.
So I'm begging you, in the most un-grown-up way possible, please, please, please, please send me some clothes. That little blue pea coat with the hood, the leather jackets. Yes. Please send them to me. I'm cold. Brrrr. Cold. Icy. Please? Mum? Dad?
Sincerely,
Helenahandbasket