It’s a man thing. It’s unavoidable. We can’t help it: God designed us so that our hands fall in our lap and, well, since they’re there, we figure we ought to use them for something cause we’re all about practicality and getting her done and, so, sphericum ergo, we scratch.
Sometimes we don’t even itch. In fact, I’d have to say in this day and age of soap and instant hot showers and excellent laundry services and all the other things that separate us from the Amish and the 18th century, we rarely have any real reason to claw the baubles save one: it reasserts our manhood.
My daughter doesn’t buy it, however. In fact, if I scratch myself in front of her one more time she might stab me with her iPod.
It’s not like I plan this. I don’t have an Outlook reminder that says “8:47am Scratch Balls.” It’s unconscious. It’s a tic. But tell that to my daughter. This morning I walked out into the living room where she’s waiting for the limo to take her to school and it’s picture day so she’s dressed like a rock star. I mean she looks stunning: black silk dress, choker, diamond earrings, and an unnaturally prominent display of boobage.
I’m wearing a modified wife-beater T-shirt, Jack Daniels jams, and my head looks like it’s being humped by a drug-addled squirrel. Then I hustle the boys.
“Daaaaaaaaaaaad! God! GOD! What’s your PROBLEM! Do you have to do that in front of me EVERY TIME?!”
“IT’S A REFLEX!”
“I don’t care! Stop it!”
“Ok,” scritch scritch.
“DAD!”
“Doh!”
“Don’t be such a man!”
“Sorry.”
“Now get me my black strapless bra.”
I swear this is verbatim.
too funny... not very many stories make me laugh out loud, but this was one of them. I'm gonna send it to my daughter...
ReplyDeleteI've just scooted around a bit here......but already I love it. As a grown woman and a daughter...I just want to say thanks for putting onto page what most men will never be able to say!!!!
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