Alternate title: I like to think of myself as the missing link between us and birds.

Fun fact: I have a wing.

Okay, not a real one with feathers and shit – that would be really hard to maintain, like showering with a cast on. I’d have to wrap it up in plastic and then preen myself later, too much effort if you ask me, I’d just have them hack it off… – but I have a hollow section in my right humerus(scienticaccuracy FTW!) and that’s what bird bones are like which allows them to fly. So obviously I am a descendant of birds, which I think means I’m a modern day dinosaur*. Which is awesome.

So we found out this little fact when I was nine years old. I was walking up the stairs to go to bed, I tripped (yes…going up the stairs) and broke my arm. My mum kept trying to convince me that it was a pulled muscle, but years later, after experiencing both types of pain, I want to smack her because on the pain chart, pulled muscles are like a 0.25 and a broken bone is like 11. Stop down playing my pain mum or I’ll break one of your bones so you understand the difference! …Or maybe not because that’s assault and I love you…

Either way, we found out that I have what is called a “bone cyst” which from my understanding is nothing like a regular cyst and that I’m a bird. A really shitty non-functional bird, but a bird none the less. So basically my bone has little pockets that aren’t filled with marrow and so it breaks whenever I do something that puts too much weight on it (it’s better now, but I’m still overly cautious of it, because DAMN breaking bones hurts) and considering how clumsy I am it was really only a matter of time before I did it again.

In fact it was just a couple months. 😀 Basically the bone healed and then I went to an upstate camp with my third grade class, and this dumbass chose the top bunk of a bed with no rails and a sleeping bag that was way too slippery. One failed prank later, I had fallen off the bunk onto the ground AND my right arm and proceeded to scream in agony. The nurse that was with us on the trip kept insisting (like my mother, but at least she had the excuse of no medical experience…btw why is it that once you become a mom you think you have super medical powers, you don’t! Back off…) that it was either sprained or a pulled muscle. I basically told her she was a dumb ass (though I was nine and still thought swearing would light me on fire or something, so I said this in much kinder words) and proceeded to inform her that it was broken and she would need to fashion a sling for me. Then I called my mum and she said to stay there since I was coming home the next day so basically I sat around doing nothing and being a social outcast again. YAY!

Side note: To this day they still tell the kids going on that trip not to goof off on the bunks because of me. So yes, in some ways I am a historical figure. Bam

So long and short of the story here is that I broke it on the growth plate and now my humeruses(humerusi? humereti? monkeys?) are both 9 and 25 years old in their growth patten. The difference is about 2 inches and I like to confuse people all the time by saying: “Oh I’ll let the long arm get that one”. I am easily amused by my bone deficiencies.

….You know, now that I think about it, all my bones are messed up in some way. I blame my father. GRR.


*Based on bone structure, dinosaurs were what birds evolved from. This brings a conclusion to the educational part of this post. I apologise profusely.