Bitch on the Blog

June 21, 2010

What’s bred in the bone

Filed under: Despair,Happiness,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 11:11

Two points:

Number one – the bastard who is corrupting one of my comps can retire. I know who you are so stop it, stand in the corner, hold Mapgpie’s hand if you must, write one hundred lines of whatever takes your fancy and behave in a somewhat civilized manner. Otherwise I will return the favoUr. Also, and this is NOT a veiled threat, whilst my son is so laid back as not to get up before midday unless he needs to attend either college, the toilet or is hungry, he takes a dim view of people who upset his mother. Who wants to live with a female in a bad mood? He doesn’t – neither do I.

Number two, and of more interest: Having had more than usual time to reflect on human condition in wake of my not one but two accidents last year – consequently lying on my back more than I expected during my lifetime –  it was brought home to me that  underneath all our flesh there are bones. Yes, really. It’s the scaffolding our muscles and innards are desperately trying to hang on to.

In the medical profession, as a biology teacher or forensic scientist you get used to skeletons hanging around. So this is today’s hot tip of the day: Probe your own bones – unless you are fat, in which case all you will do is make a pathetic dent which will send you straight to the corner shop to buy a mars bar to cheer you up.

Trust me: It’s amazing. Feel yourself, follow the pathways of that which will eventually snap: Fingers, top of your hands; lower arms particularly touchy feely as are feet and front of lower legs. However, bottoms, even if you are on the skinnys side,  are useless: They are too well padded. Ribs are good. Shoulder bones and decolletage are instructive and a bit too close to comfort as easily accessible .

Conclusion: Bones are the very canvas your good self is being painted on.


PS Next time you have a Sunday Chicken Roast don’t forget to snap the lucky bone (and make a wish).



  1. Oh! Am I in the corner then? For what crime am I being punished?

    I won’t hold hands with strangers unless thay are beautiful in mind and body….

    Which segues nicely into your second topic…when I was at college I was in demand amongst the lovely young women who were learning to be OTs down the road from our place of learning. My skeletal and muscular definition were, apparently ideal for prodding and poking (i.e. I was skinny)… that the young ladies could learn about the skeleton and musculature at first hand.

    Comment by magpie11 — June 21, 2010 @ 13:18 | Reply

    • Considering your stipulation you will not have to hold hands with the culprit. Instead – with Lady M’s permission – you may hold mine.

      How very chivalrous of you to refer to those who prodded and poked you as ‘ladies’. Which brings to mind one of my father’s anecdotes. He was in the Navy as a young man (in the Fifties there was no such thing as to avoid doing your minimum army training on grounds of being a “conscientious objector”). When his ship docked in Portsmouth or Plymouth (have forgotten which one it was) he found that English officers’ wives were quite free with their attentions to foreign young men in naval uniform. So much for the English reputation of being repressed. To be continued …


      Comment by bitchontheblog — June 22, 2010 @ 02:01 | Reply

  2. Bottoms get broken too. I fell on my tailbone iceskating & had to wear a pillow strapped to my bum, direrre, bottom, back-side, fanny, hinny, butt, ass for figure skating.

    Comment by bikehikebabe — June 21, 2010 @ 18:45 | Reply

    • I am sure bottoms get broken. Particularly if you are down on your luck.

      A few years ago I took up rollerskating again which I loved as a young girl – as I love anything to do with speed. I had romantic notion of gliding along the promenade in unison with Apple of my Eye when on day ONE – practicing in nearby carpark as not make an ass of myself in times to come – I promptly fell on my behind. Thus learnt that bottoms are polstered – no harm done, even if embarrassing as I was wearing very short skirt. To complete the story: Next day, without my sturdy protection, I broke one of my wrists. The first time I had ever broken anything in my life. I was incredulous as I am not given to taking anything lying down. In the aftermath and in the face of ridicule by anyone who heard how I’d come by my injury and should have known better at my age I told Apple of my Eye that the extravagant £200 I’d spent on the gear were wasted. End of story. Come to think of it: He never took to his inliners. Instead he does skateboarding – making my hair stand on end. A couple of years ago he invited me on his board (in the privacy of our patio) to try the most basic flip. At least HE got a laugh out of it since my balance is rubbish. Being kind he has spared me since and never asked again.

      Back to the subject: What I meant was that if you actually prod (to use Magpie’s word) and slide your fingers along your limbs and your shoulders the skeleton beneath the flesh becomes reality. You literally FEEL the bones. Something I’d never done or thought of until recently. I don’t know why it had such an emotional impact on me but it did.

      Next we’ll cover why veins in one’s hands start showing. I don’t like it.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — June 22, 2010 @ 02:31 | Reply

  3. “Next we’ll cover why veins in one’s hands start showing. I don’t like it.” And neither do I ! My mother’s hands got that way & I really thought that mine would never do that.

    The other subject: The best video I ever saw—I wish I knew how to get it again & send to you— was a bicyclist who hopped up on railings, rode down them, hopped off, went over a little cliff & over big rocks, hopped across the stream rode on one wheel, etc.

    Comment by bikehikebabe — June 22, 2010 @ 03:04 | Reply

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at

%d bloggers like this: