Bitch on the Blog

April 9, 2014


Filed under: Architecture,Atmosphere — bitchontheblog @ 09:42
Tags: , ,

Unlike Martin Luther King I don’t so much “have A dream” as many. One of them it being easier to reach the upper half of my back. And I say this as someone who is supple. And whose shoulder joints are not rusty.

The back. If  it were a toy we’d all see the design fault. It’s an easy chat up line when down at the beach and, no doubt, one of the reasons people get married: “Can you rub some sun lotion onto my back?” One of these days I will invent a contraption that makes access to your back easy – without getting married. Or asking a total stranger.

Still, it could be worse. Imagine you weren’t able to reach your hands, manicure your fingernails. It’d be awful. Don’t say I don’t put things into perspective.

Yes, the body is a wonderous thing. And that’s before you consider the mystery workings of your innards. I don’t know how many showers I have had in my life, washed my hair. Yet sometimes, particularly in the last few years – maybe ennui/inertia creeping in, I fantasize about being able to take certain body parts off, not least my overly long hair, and chuck them into the washing machine. Press start. 55 minute programme on ‘delicate’. Dry and iron. Put back where it belongs. Come to think of it this would make a marvellous story and/or film – guaranteed to give your children nightmares: Your skin being laundered. During the wash walking around like one of those ghastly stripped depictions you got in old school books (biology) or pickled/mummified at the Josephinum (Wien, Austria). And then, of course, there was what’s his name? Dr Hagen … something. Caused a sensation in Germany and round Europe with his real life dead bodies.

No, I haven’t gone mad. Which reminds me: One part of my body I do leave well alone. My brain. May it grow cobwebs. I am not prepared to run the risk of letting it shrink or go pink in the wash. Particularly as I never bank on the washing machine’s door opening at the end of its cycle. A recurring nightmare of mine. Which nearly came true the other day.




  1. You might like to do what Manjiree has done. Shall send you a photograph by mail.

    Comment by Rummuser — April 9, 2014 @ 11:42 | Reply

    • Cut it all off, Ramana? I can’t, I couldn’t, I won’t. Even if I wanted to.

      First of all, I don’t think short hair suits me. Something to do with bone structure, and having a rather square face and an even more square chin. Secondly, my son won’t let me. His own mane a magnificent one. To bloody die for.

      Still, you are right, big sigh: There is comfort in simplicity. Sometimes it is forced on you. Like onto the mother of one of the Angel’s friends. Chemotherapy. Brilliant. I have lost count of the number of wigs she has forked out on.

      Some women will endlessly “mess” with their hair. Short, medium, long, none. Whatever. Fine. I don’t. I leave well alone, living with the card nature has dealt me. Not conveyed by the photo I use on my blog, my hair is very very curly. So if I cut it, yes, with a bit of luck it will grow – but not in length. It’ll spring up in a curl. Corkscrew type. You should see some photos of me. Anyway, as at least one drama queen I know (no, not me) would say: I am traumatized by hair. My mother once took her scissors to me. I must have been about seven or eight. It was a disaster. So the next morning, before school, she took me to a hairdresser. I can’t tell you, Ramana, I have always been a woman even when still a girl. I came out of that salon, the hairdresser having rectified my mother’s wonky cutting, looking like a BOY! With lots of tight curls! Making that which was already short beyond the acceptable even shorter. Factor in my big dark eyes glowing and you get the picture. Still, such was my standing on the playground no one mentioned it.

      Recently, and then I shut about my hair, I had a fever. And with all the tossing and turning I matted a strand of my locks. Beyond redemption. So I cut it. Guess what, and it makes me laugh. Poking out among my long hair there is that tiny little corkscrew making its shortness known trying to catch up with the rest of my drowning glory.

      Thanks for that, Ramana. Not all men do roll their eyes when one twitters on about the inconsequential.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — April 9, 2014 @ 12:26 | Reply

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