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 thighs 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 thighs. 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.

Forever yours,





Dear Princess ‘Ishka,

Some time ago, as I was having my usual 60°C shower after training, I got joined by a tall, muscular guy I had noticed swimming in the lane next to mine. We were alone and he was very good looking. I stood still for a while, staring at my bare feet as the pouring water set new standards of silence.

He had deep, lapis lazuli eyes. Arguably they were simply blue, but somehow the association with precious stones illustrates better my imagination at that time. I was almost done, a drop of hair conditioner and adieu. I knew his skin had the colour of the sand wetted by the sea at sunset.

‘I am a spider’ I thought. ‘A skeletal, feeble, pallid spider, with rickety legs, and sharp bones everywhere’. Before my body mechanically drove me out of the showers, I had the fortune to catch a glimpse of him. A Greek deity, indeed.

I take myself to be a pretty self-confident person, at times even to an excess. But it can happen that I doubt about my physical appearance. We all do.

On a daily base, we are under fire from advertisements like:

“How to get the six pack you’ve always dreamed of in just 12 quarters of half a decade”

“Lose weight following these 5 simple steps, backward, with acrobatic flips and overdose of these pills, which will cause you chronic diarrhoea”

“CLICK HERE to discover how John built up 15 pounds of muscles in a single week (see John’s embarassing before/after picture)” … and so on.

No wonder that the number of people going to the gym is greatly increasing. And even more people are quitting any physical activity due to exasperation. Especially the first are reducing themselves to an army of identical blown up dolls.

Isn’t this frustrating? Shouldn’t we be free to cultivate ourselves in our own unique way? To reach the essence of ourselves, whether including steel biceps or not? There are so many sports, so many activities! Impossible not to find one matching our preferences, body shape and capacities.

Not everyone will grow up a Riace Warrior. But even spiders have their perks. Poison, for instance.

Forever yours,