Life at Our House...

is generally chaotic and somewhat stressful. But in the midst of all that there's Mr. Man, walking around the house with the backscratcher (long handled stick thingy with an edge with which to scratch your back). He generally just plays with it, but tonight he waltzes into the kitchen while I'm making our sandwiches to proudly proclaim that he actually scratched an itch with the device.

The evening proceeds and we're now eating dinner. In the middle of the meal (which began terribly with a defcon 4 meltdown about how egg salad sandwiches were messy) he says:

"I wish I had a bum scratcher because I have an itch on my bum." He then begins to wiggle around in his seat trying to get his itch to go away. "And it's not going away!"

I quickly forgive the screaming fit about messy egg salad sandwiches because that was just too damn funny.