My daughter always makes fun of me because there’s almost no sensation in the world that I love more than when having my back scratched. Seriously, it feels SO. DAMN. AWESOME. Neither my wife nor my daughter quite understand my affinity for it, but it’s there. They mock me because every now and then, I’ll be mindlessly scratching my back on the wall, like some kind of barnyard animal scratching an itch on a fencepost.
I blame my dad for this. When I was a baby, he would sit in a chair with me on his chest, like this:
As he sat there, he would kind of mindlessly itch my little back, thereby hard-wiring a love of back scratches into me at a very early age.
Anna laughs at me because when she comes up to me and scratches my back, I frequently will collapse as if I have no bones in my upper body. I swear she does it just to see me do that. Not that I’m complaining because as I mentioned, having your back scratched is the best feeling in the whole goddamn world.