I was enjoying the filial duties of Ms Trez in the form of a relaxing massage. I was lying face down on the bed and she was sitting on my back, pounding her tiny three-year old fists on my shoulders and back, and occasionally attempting to knead my shoulders. (As a side note, I have to recommend this to all parents of toddlers as a meaningful way to expend all that boundless energy. Three year old is the sweet spot where their punches are comfortable without being overly painful nor feeble.)

Quid pro quo, when she was done, I offered my massage services back to her.

Trez: Ok, but don’t sit on me.

Me: Why not? You sat on me when you gave me a massage. Why can’t I sit on you when I give you a massage?

Trez: Because you’re big and I’m small. If you sit on me, I die.

Alright then.