I’ve been spending a good part of the day on a personal project that truly baffles me. My boyfriend and I were playing another self-invention of a game the other night. The rules are that player one has to smack their hands on the wall, and guess the name of the film player two is singing the soundtrack to, while being tickled. And under no circumstances connect his/her hands to anything but the wall, until the guess is approved. I personally put tickling in the this-hurts-like-Darth-Vader-hurts-peoples-feelings category. In this category you can also find the bumping-your-toe-into-a-tableleg pain. The thing they have in common is the high peak of annoyance level they take you to. Kind of like when I did the cinnamon challenge without knowing how it devilishly brewed an increasing dry Sahara in my mouth. I was ten, and well annoyed. The thing with tickles though, is, that seem to diffuse giggles all over your annoyance, which tricks you both mentally and physically, similar to the event of a unicorn breaching reality poking your with its giant poking device of a horn. I would giggle a bit however, I’m thinking it would be annoying too, and because of its mythical status, I would be quite confused. However, I managed to bring myself to an even more impressive state of confusion, when I then today re-gained one of my observations as a child. You cannot tickle yourself! And this is what I based my personal project on today. Even if I really scrubbed my fingers with a chinesemassa(cre)ge power against my ribs, it doesn’t do the trick. I wonder if I used someone elses hand to tickle me – but with my hand and movements, would I then be able to create the tickling sensation? I just don’t get it.
The other night at work, an observation of mine teased my random outlet to suddenly distract me from doing my job. As a waitress I’ve found my imaginary shield (which keeps me from pounding up giggles or annoyance against guests lacking the graces and refinement of civilized life), significantly useful. I must come to admit though, that I wasn’t prepared for this certain incident.
I wanted to grasp my new mission of a table of two with supreme service, so I knelt down in front of the table to seem like a friendly underhuman. As I looked up to take their drinks order, I found myself trapped in a limbo of restrainable giggles and exposed fright. Having punished my brain (with remembering endless refills, check backs, birthday cakes, bills and all that jazz) it had expanded to a level similar to squeezing a bruised tomato with your hand so hard that gooey stuff starts to drizzle down between your fingers. Suddenly my brain expansion poofed like a zit on a 14 year-old teenage boy’s face which resulted in me forgetting all my duties I had stocked up.
My eyeballs tinkled as they witnessed the massive unibrow on this man. Kneeling on the floor his unibrow felt like the dark shadow of Mordor resting over me and it left my tongue paralyzed to mute for a few seconds. I worded an oral combination of chaos which led him to order drinks, but as astonished I was, his voice slow motioned into the sound of Darth Vader under water, and I couldn’t pay attention to anything but his massive unibrow. It was starring right at me, and when I tried to focus on what the man was saying I felt a ghostly lurk from the his one brow and I was forced to look at it. It was like I was in a bewitched trance as each hair transformed into tiny Chewbaccas wiggling. I could nearly feel his millions of brow hairs tickling my face, which caused me to stretch my forehead exceptionally tight to form a bizarre face position. With a confused look I picked up their menus, and walked away while thinking “Big Foot is in town, and he is definitely not going to tip me”.