Dear Right Buttock….

….We’ve been together for a long time. We know each other well. We’ve been through some stuff. You’re the reason I’m currently going to Physio. I’ve been good. I’ve treated you well. We’ve collaborated on many projects, and our work with the Physio has benefited us both. We clench together, we lift together, we walk together. I keep you snug in soft fabrics. I wash and dry you. I let you (with Left Buttock and Anus) choose what kind of fart we’re going to have. You’ve helped me make my Mum (and other people) laugh when you jiggle around. You choose my trousers for me, and my pants. You even choose the type of noise I’m going to make when I stand up and sit down*. So why, with our shared history, shared laughter and shared production of noxious gases and funny noises, are you behaving like a Barbarian to me? Hmm. What have I done? I didn’t carry anything too heavy. I didn’t walk too far without my Special Shoes and Orthoses**. I didn’t try to have Intimate Physical Contact*** and fun with anyone. I didn’t try to wear heals. I didn’t do Secret Funky Dancing**** when no one was around. I didn’t even sit in once place for too long. I think you’re being unreasonable. There I said it. I think you’re being a horrid. Ppppppphhhhfffffft! I don’t like you.

But I’m stuck with you, Right Buttock, like a married Catholic couple in the 15th century who definitely did consummate their marriage, we can’t Divorce (if we did separate, we would be treated as ‘other’ by Society). So I’m going to medicate myself until I am unaware of your presence, or you start being nice again.

* Out of my mouth, as in ‘Grrrnarrrgh’ on standing and ‘Ooof uck’ on sitting.

**I can only walk in anti-pronation and shock absorbing running shoes with specially made carbon fibre orthoses. Is it ironic that I have to buy professional running shoes and I can’t run? I can just about get around the house in slippers, but really fail walking in bare feet. I don’t know why I can walk in slippers but not bare footed. I also find hard surfaces very difficult to walk on. My garden path is a nasty experience.

***That would be Sex.

****Secret Funky Dancing – in a typical dancing situation, I usually have to sit – but I can do some Damn Fine hand jiving. Seriously, I’m a master. But at home when I feel I can, and when I hear a certain song, I do Secret Funky Dancing. It’s bad, it’s mal-coordinated, it usually ends up with me knocking shit over, being breathless with a rapid heartbeat and very sore the next day, but it has to happen when it has to happen. This is the song that is guaranteed to bring on the Boogie: If you don’t know Melanie Safka (just known as Melanie) try her out. I didn’t learn about her until I was in my late 20’s and I love this song.

I want to make it clear that I currently have an excellent Physiotherapist – the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve had about 14 of them. My Buttock being rebellious and my Sciatica trying to come back is nothing to do with her, or my conscious action, it’s just a Buttock being an Arse.

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