Dear Princess ‘Ishka,
We need to talk about one serious problem. It may not be as dramatic as hunger in the third world, or attention-seeker buffoons controlling nuclear arsenals, but it still has its own, peculiar weight in the everyday life of many people.
Individuals not belonging to this minority, may find it hard to understand how lucky they are in doing effortlessly and painlessly many simple actions, like sitting on a wood chair, on the ground, in- and outdoor, to sleep on the side joining one’s legs, and so on.
I belong to the minority of the “bonies” and life for me as for my fellows is tough. The bodies of bonies are extremely bony or, as my sister would put it, “sharp-cornered”. When bonies sit on wood chairs, they feel like their booties are trying to drill in them. In general, bonies don’t sit on comfortable incorporated cushions, but on two inverted little diamond-hard pyramids. And sometimes it is pretty painful. “Buttless bonies” like me (a minority in the minority), can’t even sit quietly on the grass, for once you sit, it is likely for your buttocks to get stuck in the ground.
If you think this is terrible enough, you better think twice. Because even sleeping is hard for bonies. If you are a bonie, by joining your legs, you don’t have soft thigs granting you sweet dreams. No, you spend the whole night trying to figure out how the symmetrical shape of your knees could be put together, without giving you the feeling of lying on irregular pointy rocks. Not to talk about your ankles, which feel like clashing flints. I am still wondering how I have not yet spontaneously caught fire at night.
Bonies’ bones are obstacles also to social relationships. When you go with good friends to a crowded bar and there’s no place anymore where to sit, it would be a great idea to sit on a friend’s thigs. If only it weren’t possible for bonies’ butt-pyramids to seriously injure them by digging holes in their legs. All is left for bonies to do is observing at a distance and with envious eyes the ease of those people that are unaware of the fortune they daily sit on.
Booties give people social status and they enable one to climb the rankings of sex-appeal. Once you abandon the lies behind Disney standards for looking at the humankind, there is one thing you really care about, and that’s not the color of one guy’s eyes.
I don’t like being a crybaby, so I decided to do something. But growing a booty is an almost impossible task for a bonie like me. It is like growing an orchid in the middle of the Saahra, like trying to convince a lioness to go vegan to feed her cubs, or like blowing air with one’s own lungs into an hot-air balloon pretending it will start flying towards a brilliant future.
Perhaps I am delusional about the success of this enterprise, but luckily my friends can see beyond my physical appearance and appreciate me, despite my caprices. Even more luckily, they don’t see “too much beyond” as to see me from behind.