I know it doesn't make any sense at all, but if I ever mention that my feet have "gone to sleep" in front of Robb, I feel terribly, horribly guilty.
I can't shake the notion that since Robb never, ever complains about not being able to feel or move his feet, I have no right to, either.
For some reason, this brings to mind a strange road-trip game my sister and I used to play as kids. We "had to" hold our breath when we drove past cemeteries. When I had this explained to me, I was told very matter-of-factly that since the dead couldn't breath, we weren't allowed to either. That makes about as much sense at my guilty feelings about complaining about pins and needles.
I do wonder if holding one's breath while passing a cemetery dates to the pre-automotive age. Did the kids on long buggy trips pass out from oxygen deprivation? Or were previous generations of bored kids less credulous than I was as a child?
I did not take this brilliant photo. It is one of my Flickr discoveries. Yes, those are kitty whiskers. And no, I don't recall what I was actually looking for when I stumbled across that image.