One of the many things I hate about being single is that there’s no one to scratch that spot on my back that absolutely cannot be reached by my own hands. Several times a day I can be found rubbing up against door jambs as if I were a bear scratching its back on a pine tree. It’s absolutely maddening.
If you really believe that there is a creator behind all living things, then I have to say he or she really screwed up this time. I mean, if a dog can be designed to lick its own balls, why couldn’t we be designed to access our own back? There really is no excuse for it.
I have this friend whose family used to tell her that if she wanted to be a boy, all she had to do was kiss her own elbow. Imagine her frustration. Now add an itchy feeling to that, and you feel my pain. Or at least my nagging discomfort.
I am still searching for that special guy to scratch my back. May his nails be short and his reach be long. And for Pete’s sake, may he hurry up and get here.
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