Scissors are fine, or “What’s the worst that could happen?”

So, I’m going to add “scratching your back with scissors” as one of those things that seems like a better idea than it actually is.

So, you know, when your back itches, and you can’t reach it, and all you have near you is a remote control, a pen, and a pair of scissors.  Well, the remote is obviously useless. The pen … maybe … you try it, but it’s too short and ineffective. (Though you learn later you did draw all over yourself).  So, well, scissors aren’t knives exactly, and they’re closed after all.

So you use the scissors, and your husband (who you would have asked to scratch your back, but when you do, like 5, or 6, or maybe just 27 little times he gets all “stop asking me to scratch your back” so you get all “fine I’ll never ever ask you to scratch my back again even if it means writhing on the wool rug with my shirt around my shoulders”) says “um, stop using scissors to scratch your back I’ll do it” and you say “no, this is fine, I don’t need your help” but really you did need his help because the next day your back is all covered with welts. 

Which are itchy.

Yeah, I hate it when that happens.

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