Backs are the whiny little bitches of the human body.
Why do I say this? Well, have you ever met someone who, when they wanted attention, you can’t seem to get rid of them…. but when they have other things to do, you never hear from them again?
The kind of person, who, when you treat them well – it’s a given, but when they complain, they bitch louder than anyone else? God forbid you ever make a mistake around them…. because they’ll never let you forget it. Ever.
If my back were a person, this is who it would be:
(That’s one whiny biatchmo right there! Yeah, I’m talkin’ to YOU Dawson!)
Mainly, my back is just attached to the reverse side of my body as my stomach. I’ve always said that the fastest way to my heart is through either my stomach or my back. Cook me some great food, and I’m yours forever. But give me a nice back scratching/rubbing? Well, then you might have to get a restraining order for me to leave.
You can scratch and scratch and scratch my back, and hell, you catch me in the right spot….
Yeah, that’s me…
So what’s to complain about?
Well, recently, I was brutally attacked while at a wine festival in Manassas. It was all quite tragic. I was minding my own business when a clinically mentally infirmed female (also known as: my girlfriend) decided that it would be great fun to jump on my back. Unfortunately she forgot one very important thing….. I’m old.
I say this, because, as I was getting maliciously decimated, I did what any other upstanding gentleman would do. I sought revenge.
This is where I ran into problems.
You see, as a not-so-recent owner of a “30-and-over-AARP-in-waiting Membership Card” – I apparently need to pre-plan my revenge, and not seek my vengence in a spontaneous fashion…as I did in my younger whippersnapper days.
Because my back is a “planner” – and apparently, revenge was not in its daily plan.
What the hell? All I did was try to pick up my girlfriend and toss her like a caber:
Is that really so tough to do?
Anyway…. you wanna know what happens when I go against my back’s plan? It tells me to fuck off.
For like, 3 weeks.
Basically my back just continues to complain on and on and on… endlessly. No matter what I do, no matter how nicely I treat it. No matter how many backrubs, and scratchings I’ve gotten for it.
No, there is no pleasing my back. It’s a vindictive little bitch too… it complains in a very devious manner. No, it doesn’t act up at convenient times or times where I think it might be bothered… no, it waits for completely inappropriate times to act up. It feels fine and no problem when I’m at work all day long, but nooooooo when I get home and am ready to relax?
Oy! Apparently talking about my body falling apart is something worth blogging about….. or not.
Next edition: Mothers and other things that nag….. err oh screw it. Just to save you time, re-read this whole blog entry, and anywhere I mention “back” just insert “mom.” It’s all the same