Q. Happy Feet: My husband loves to get his feet massaged. When he was younger (think elementary school and up), his mom had him massage her feet often, probably once a week. When he told me about this, I was horrified, even after he assured me these massages were purely a therapeutic thing and not sexual. Now my husband has started telling our young daughter about how she needs to start rubbing his feet. I’ve told him that either I’ll massage them or send him to a professional, but I don’t want her massaging anyone. Am I wrong for putting my foot down (sorry for the pun)?
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A: And you just brought back memories of how my father would ask his four offspring, when we were little, to scratch his back. Sometimes two of us would go at it and we loved getting the spot he couldn’t reach. This spot was generally just below his shoulder. Let me assure you there was nothing remotely sexual about this, it was just an entertaining primate grooming thing. You are turning something fun into something ugly. I bet your daughter will thrill to working the kinks out of her Dad’s feet, and there is nothing kinky about that. If your daughter gets good enough, you may want some free reflexology yourself, Mom.
WHAT?! I used to massage my step moms feet a lot. Please sign me up for intensive therapy because obviously I was taken advantage of and abused without realizing it.
A flock of flirting flamingos is pure, passionate, pink pandemonium-a frenetic flamingle-mangle-a discordant discotheque of delirious dancing, flamboyant feathers, and flamingo lingo.
Yeah what Czech said. Freaking out over nothing. This isn't sexual at all.
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“You may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes, you may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, like air, I'll rise!” ― Maya Angelou
My sisters and I would fight over which one of us got to sit on the arm of dad's chair and tickle his hair.
A memory that is absolutely priceless to all of us.
I have to agree. I'm not into foot rubbing--either getting or giving--but it's getting so a father can't even hold his daughter on his lap, anymore, without someone freaking the fvck out.
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I'm not arguing, I'm just explaining why I'm right.
Well, I could agree with you--but then we'd both be wrong.
My sister and I fought over who got to write on our dad's back. We played the word game. We would "write" words on my daddy's back and he had to guess what we were writing. He never seemed to guess. Lol!
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America guarantees equal opportunity, not equal outcome...
This mom is weird. I have to wonder if she was abused herself as a child and now sees abuse everywhere.
Uh oh, you just went there...
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“You may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes, you may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, like air, I'll rise!” ― Maya Angelou
This mom is weird. I have to wonder if she was abused herself as a child and now sees abuse everywhere.
Uh oh, you just went there...
Well, some people do!
How well I know! Especially after being on this board...
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“You may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes, you may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, like air, I'll rise!” ― Maya Angelou
My mother is a horrible back scratcher. She hates doing it, and lightly scrapes with her nails, it almost tickles. So when she has a bad itch she can't reach, I'll do the same to her and it drives her nuts. Now she has a wooden one she uses. The boys love using it on each other and on her.
I couldn't do it. I don't like touching other people's feet. Never have.
I kept my dad's shoes shined. I loved shinning his shoes.
I remember being about 6ish the first time I did it all on my own.
He was really surprised.
Of cute I had black shoe polish all up both arms and on both legs.
-- Edited by lilyofcourse on Thursday 27th of August 2015 04:15:00 PM
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A flock of flirting flamingos is pure, passionate, pink pandemonium-a frenetic flamingle-mangle-a discordant discotheque of delirious dancing, flamboyant feathers, and flamingo lingo.