I was out this past Friday night having dinner with my married friend Raquel.* (She's Russian and looks it, with heavy features that apparently require large amounts of makeup and jewelry and gaudy outfits.) She is a bit of a flake-- her father is a 'psychic' and her mother is a magician's apprentice (to a guy who tours the Florida snowbird circuit and shuffleboard cruises), so oddity runs in the family.
Apropos of nothing, she starts telling me about this friend in Oregon that she has who trades underarm pictures with her. Apparently that's a thing among some people. She looked at mine and so I looked at hers, and then I told her to raise her hand and I poked her. She giggled and said "I'm ticklish."
We traded some giggles, and the conversation then went to talking about vegetarian restaurants around the world.
* She pronounces it in an odd way, so it's like Rach rhyming with Mach 1... Rohkchel... I can't explain it. I just go with Raquel.
Apropos of nothing, she starts telling me about this friend in Oregon that she has who trades underarm pictures with her. Apparently that's a thing among some people. She looked at mine and so I looked at hers, and then I told her to raise her hand and I poked her. She giggled and said "I'm ticklish."
We traded some giggles, and the conversation then went to talking about vegetarian restaurants around the world.
* She pronounces it in an odd way, so it's like Rach rhyming with Mach 1... Rohkchel... I can't explain it. I just go with Raquel.