The Truth Comes Out

Hi,

Sorry for the blog hiatus.  I really love keeping up with it, but unfortunately, I was kidnapped by pirates for a few months and was unable to access a computer.  Things are fine now.  Thanks for all of your outreach and concern during that difficult time.  That all-star concert/telethon was particularly touching.   

Judging by the last paragraph, you can all plainly see that honesty is very important to me.  I'm the kind of person who really feels that telling the truth is the way to go.  Granted, there may be a few small instances where it's OK to hide the truth or embellish a little or flat out lie to someone's face.  Here are some examples:

-When a police officer asks if you know how fast you were driving
-When those annoying kids outside the supermarket ask if you have any spare change to help fund their stupid cheerleading trip
-When that idiot from high school asks if you know how the two of you became un-friended on facebook

Beyond that, you should really be honest.  Telling lies will only come back to hurt you in the end.  Well, maybe not.  Actually, it seems the really successful people in life are usually the most selfish, crooked, dishonest characters among us.  Sometimes karma finally catches up with them, but that's usually after they have already enjoyed living a rich, lavish lifestyle and had time to screw with the nice, honest folks like you and me.  And even then, they usually find a loophole to avoid getting punished or condemned for their dishonesty.  So really, the case for honesty isn't so strong.  So what's the point of trying to be honest?  Who really cares?  Well...you know who cares?  THIS GUY RIGHT HERE.











And that, my friends, is reason enough for me.

OK...on to the story.

You know when you get an itchy back, and there's no one around to help scratch it for you, and it's in a spot where you can't reach it on your own?  Isn't that the WORST? When you get stuck in that terrible situation, there are a few things you can do:

-suffer in horrible, merciless, itching hell until someone comes along to help
-scream "SOMEBODY HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" until someone comes along to help
-stop whining and figure out a way to do it on your own

Option Three probably makes the most sense, even though the second option is also a pretty interesting choice.  But if you end up picking #3, you still have to figure out how to do it on your own.  One way I like to address the whole itching problem is something I learned by watching my dad.  I like to call it the "Rub Against the Corner of a Wall" strategy.  I think Dad may have learned it by watching a cat do it. Whatever.  That part doesn't matter.  The point is that it actually works pretty well, even though it looks pretty strange and the wall doesn't quite give that sharp, fingernail-y satisfying feeling that I often desire in a back scratching.  But if you're in a jam, and you have a wall handy, I say GO FOR IT.  If there isn't a wall nearby, you can probably also use a tree. I haven't tried it, so don't get pissed at me if something bad happens.  I'm just saying it could probably work.

Then there is the well-known "Back Scratcher" method.  There is a huge market out there for back scratchers.  The idea is that if you're alone and need a good scratch, you can use a tool to scratch your own back.  Of course, nothing can beat the fingernails of a friend, loved one, or hey...let's face it, a total stranger.  It's always better when you don't have to do it yourself.  But I'm getting off track.  If you're alone and in need of a scratch, and you happen to have a back scratcher, you're in luck.  However, I'm a little biased because the first experience I had with owning a back scratcher is with THIS THING:

This, friends, is a Mickey Mouse back scratcher.  I can't remember when I got it, but it was a gift to me some time probably in the 1990s.  Some of you may know that I grew up pretty obsessed with Mickey Mouse, so as a result of that, I often received a shitload of Mickey-related gifts.  Including this thing.  I'm sure the person gave it to me purely for the Mickey-ness and NOT for the practical use or for the fact that I love a good back scratching.

I don't have this item in my possession any longer, but I remember it vividly.  Specifically, I remember that IT SUCKED AS A BACK SCRATCHER.  Here's why: if you look closely at the picture, you'll see that the scratcher is made out of plastic.  If you really look closely, you'll notice that Mickey's fingers (the part that does all of the scratching) are curved and roundish.  So instead of getting a good scratch when you try to use it, all you get is the feeling of round plastic on your back.  It's more of a rub than a scratch.  And a shitty rub, at that.  If they wanted to make a good scratcher, they would have put nails on Mickey's fingers.  And let's face it...a real mouse would have long, sharp claws.  Now THAT would have given a good back scratching!  Then again, if Disney really cared about biological accuracy, he probably wouldn't have given Mickey gloves.  Or pants.  Oh well.  I guess it's better off that way.

The point of the story is: early on in life, I had a bad experience with a back scratcher and was thus turned off to them.  That's not to say I didn't encounter GOOD back scratchers over the years.  I remember very clearly having some good experiences with a friend's scratcher.  It looked like this:

It rocked.  It was simple but it did the trick.  However, scratching your own back is a pretty personal experience.  No one wants to watch someone else do that whole moaning, wiggling, "aaaaaaaaah"-ing thing.  It's awkward and uncomfortable.  Therefore, I resisted using the scratcher and, consequently, suffered in silence.  And I'm sure I could have gone out and bought one for myself to use in the comfort of my own home, but come on.  Who goes out and buys a back scratcher for herself? That seems weird.  Plus, back then, I wouldn't have the first idea where to buy one.  It's a pretty specialty item, you know what I mean?

Thankfully, I now have a husband who scratches my back whenever I ask him to.  Typically, it's not, "Hey honey, can you please scratch my back?"  It's more, "OH MY GOD PLEASE HURRY GET OVER HERE I NEED YOU TO SCRATCH  MY BACK NO NO NOT THERE HIGHER, LEFT, RIGHT, A LITTLE LOWER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH."  I usually also encourage him to lift up my shirt and scratch my "naked back," because we all know how clothes can hold in the itch and form an anti-scratch barrier.  Yes.  I said "naked back."  That's how all adults with a sophisticated vocabulary talk...right?

Despite the awesome husband with fantastic scratching skills, there are still those dark moments in life when I find myself home, alone, and itchy.  So what's a girl to do in those times?  Well I'm about to tell you.

So there I was, sitting in the kitchen, just relaxing after a long day at work.  I had the laptop out and was putzing around on the internet (I know...shocker).  Anyway, out of the blue came THE ITCH.  I tried to scratch it on my own, but sadly, the itch in question was located in the Bermuda Triangle area of the back.  I really didn't feel like getting up and walking the five or six steps to the wall.  And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted it...

The crock of kitchen tools that we don't really use because we already have a lot of kitchen tools and the crock is mostly there because it matches with our kitchen and we liked the look of the wood and sometimes my husband uses the spoons and spatulas but I never do because they never really come clean in the dishwasher and then we have to re-wash them by hand and besides, the wood makes me uncomfortable and reminds me of those wooden stick spoons that came with the Hoodsie ice cream cups we used to get in school and they always made me really creeped out because the wood spoon felt really horrible on my tongue.

Anyway, there was the crock.  But it was one specific thing in the crock that really caught my eye:

Seriously.  Look at that thing.  Look at it! If it doesn't scream "I WILL SCRATCH YOUR BACK!!!!" I don't know what does.

Besides, what the hell ELSE good is that thing?  Seriously.  What is it?  It looks like a big wooden toothbrush.  I knew that's not what it was.  At least, I was pretty sure that's not what it was.  Beyond that, I really had no idea if it served any good purpose.  Except, of course, to be my back scratching bitch.

A few questions popped into my mind before using it.  Specifically,

1. Will it hurt?
2. What if pieces of my scratched off back get on it?
3. What will my husband think?

Then, since I'm such a thoughtful, non-impulsive person, I took the time to answer the questions:

1. I don't care.
2. I don't care.
3. I don't care.

With all questions answered, I forged ahead and scratched my back with the wooden toothbrush.  And let me tell you, it was AMAAAAAAAAAZING.  I'm not kidding.  It covered a lot of back real estate at once, it didn't hurt, and it gave a nice, deep, fulfilling scratch.  It was so good, I continued to scratch my arms and neck with it.  When I tell you this thing was awesome, I'm not kidding. This shit was bananas.

After all was said and done, I decided to clean it off just in case there was some of that aforementioned back flake-age left over.  By "cleaning," of course, I mean I ran it under some hot water for a few seconds.  Come on...my back isn't that dirty! Geez. Then I thanked the scratcher for its excellent service, put it back into its home, and went on my merry way.

Fast forward to a few days later.  I decided not to mention the back scratching incident to my husband because in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn't a big deal.  Why trouble him with something silly to think about, right? It's just me scratching myself with kitchen tools.  WHO CARES?

But there we were, putting the dishes away together, and I decided to come forward and be honest about my discovery.  Not because I thought he'd be impressed (I knew he wouldn't) or think I was a genius (he doesn't) or think it was funny (I knew he wouldn't).  No, friends.  None of those reasons influenced me.  I just thought I should come out and tell him.  Just because.  I don't really know why.  Maybe it's because I really do care what he thinks.  Maybe it's because I felt a little guilty.  Maybe Jiminy Cricket told me to do it.  Regardless, I finally just told him...and it went a little something like this:

ME: "Hey...so you know this thing?  What is it?  What is it for? I don't think we ever use it."

HIM: "It's for spaghetti."

ME: "Oh. I thought it was a back scratcher."

HIM: "Yeah haha"

ME: "No, well.  Um...I actually scratched my back with it the other day."

HIM: "What? Are you serious?"

ME:  "Yes well I was really itchy and it looked really good and I scratched my back and it helped and you know how I get really itchy and you weren't here and it's really no big deal.  I washed it."

HIM: "Come on. That's nasty."

ME: "I know but I said I washed it. It's no big deal.  We don't really even use it."

HIM: "That's still gross.  I don't care if you washed it.  That's like saying you used a spoon to clean up Maggie's dog crap, but it's no big deal because you washed it."

ME: "That isn't the same thing at all! So you're saying my back is like Maggie's dog crap?!"

HIM: "Yup!"

ME:  "Yeah right.  It's not the same thing. It's a back scratcher and it's awesome."

HIM: "No it's not. Don't use it like that anymore. Come on."

ME: "OK fine."







 


So that was that.  Thankfully, we were laughing throughout most of this discussion, particularly when he introduced dog crap into the conversation...so I know that he was at least slightly amused at my discovery. However, I could tell that he was mostly unimpressed with my back scratching ingenuity.  Therefore, I've decided to not mention that I still use it from time to time...including the three times I scratched while writing this blog post.

And that, my friends, is the secret to a perfect marriage. 

Oooooooooh.  Make that FOUR times.