There are few pleasures in life that surpass the feeling one gets from scratching an itch. Admit it. How many times have I heard this statement, “That only scratches the surface.” Dear hearts, where else can you scratch? Obversely, there are few things as frustrating and fail to satisfy than scratching near the spot, close to the spot, almost on the spot, just around the corner from the spot, down the block from the spot and next door to the spot. Many despotic, tyrannical dictators torture people by scratching that way.
My back is the only place on my ginormous body that I can’t reach to scratch. BW is exceedingly talented in many areas but finding the right spot to scratch is not one of her strong suits. She can scratch but finding the place is almost impossible. Houses of today do not have places to scratch a back. All corners are rounded; all walls are finished and smooth. Furniture is also rounded with few sharp edges or corners.
I have a special place in our house to scratch those impossible spots on my back. In our office/library room there is a decorative brick wall that serves to separate the office from the space for the furnace and water heater. The edge of that wall is the absolute best back scratching place in this universe. DNA is collected by a swab in the mouth, fingernail clippings or hair from a brush. Swab the edge of that wall and you have enough DNA to identify and nail me.
Here is a typical conversation at our house. “BW, I have an intra-scapular itch on my back.” “What does that mean?” “The itch is between my shoulder blades; my scapulae.” “Okay, here goes.” Scritch, scratch, scritch. “You are close but not there.” This is beginning to sound like the current advertisement featuring Peyton Manning and Brad Paisley.
“Up just a bit; down a little; to the right some; go left; move sideways. You just aren’t hitting the spot.” And just as you think you found it, it moves to another location.
So I grab her elbow and try to guide her fingers to the correct spot. At that very moment a universal law that I am not aware of emerges and a hidden button on her elbow joint causes her arm below the elbow and all of her fingers to turn into sawmill gravy. Have you ever tried to scratch with gravy? I cannot guide, direct or point gravy. You can’t pour gravy on any scratch and feel any relief. Gravy just smooshes and slathers all over the place. It does not scratch.
“Gang way,” I yell as I thunder down the hallway in speeds Danica Patrick in her #10 car only dreams about; through the dining room then the kitchen the short chute by the bathroom/utility room and Naptown and reach Nirvana, the brick wall. The wall knows the exact spot and I yell, “Out damned spot, out I say.” (“Hamlet” by Shakespeare).
Larry Vandeventer. Go to my two websites – Larryvandeventer.com and wjrambler1956.com – and purchase my books. I grew up North of Calvertville and graduated from Worthington High School and Indiana State. Contact me at Goosecrick@aol.com or 317-839-7656.