Between my eyes, about a mile back from my nose, I have an itch. Will you itch it for me? I can’t get it.
I remember, growing up, there was a debate in our family about whether, when you had an itch, you “scratched” it or you “itched” it. My mom said you scratched an itch, my dad said you itched an itch. My and I were left to take sides. Even my 7-year-old mind knew that you scratched an itch, but it was already a rebellious mind and one that thought it was cooler to be a daddy’s girl than a momma’s girl so I always itched my itches.