OldEnglish
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
- Messages
- 235
- Points
- 18
I was recently chatting with a friend on the TMF and the subject of Thanksgiving being a sort-of treasure trove of tickle possibilities came about, and as we were talking, I remembered this little tale from a few years back. It admittedly did not last terribly long, and it will certainly take me longer to write it and you longer to read it than it took to actually occur, but I am hopeful that you’ll enjoy it.
As per my usual, I ended up being a bit verbose in setting the scene, so apologies in advance if you were expecting more.
This happened maybe about 10 years or so ago at this point. My wife comes from a large immediate family with many brothers. At this point in time, I had already married into the family. Only one of her brothers had married when this story occurred, and that wife is the subject of the story.
We’ll call her Kelly to keep things simple. Kelly was… something else, that’s for sure. She’d have been in her early 20s at the time of this tale and she was living the life. Without exaggerating and mentioning only subjectively, Kelly was beautiful. But the problem was that she knew it And her attitude showed that she knew it. My in-laws aren’t necessarily an easy bunch to get used to, but outside of her husband, she showed she had little time for any one else in the family. She tolerated me as a fellow “outsider” and we had some distant mutual friends, but were it not for those two factors, I’m sure she wouldn’t have given me the time of day if I asked. My brother-in-law had definitely opted for the “Queen of Diamonds” with this wife.
Not that she was necessarily a horrible person. She just had this air about her that made it seem like she felt she was better than everyone else --- and she didn’t try to hide it. And no matter what we all did, something in her life was better somewhere else. We had a nice Christmas Eve dinner? “Well, in my family, we usually do…” Someone graduated college? “Well, my cousin just graduated from…” That sort of thing.
But let’s get to that particular Thanksgiving… It was already somewhat of a “memorable” Thanksgiving Day - in my eyes, anyways - simply because of Kelly’s outfit that day. Anyone who has ever spoken with me or has ever read any of my stories knows my affinity for nylons. And anyone who shares that affinity with me also knows that, depending on a number of variables, you can go quite a long time between seeing someone wearing nylons. Kelly NEVER wore nylons. The potential had been there, sure. We had been to weddings together. Family holidays. She had worn heels countless times. But I had ever seen her in nylons. Heck, she would rarely ever even take her shoes off, and those times that she did, she’d usually have socks on.
Until this day.
Kelly and her husband had been one of the first to arrive, as they usually were, since they were usually the first ones to leave immediately after dinner. They were already there by the time we arrived. As per usual, she was seated in the corner of the “second table” - the bar height table where people dined on appetizers - while most of the extended family was either in the living room or at the “primary table” - the more formal dining table - chatting away.
Kelly looked nice that evening. She usually dressed nice. She was wearing a pair of black dress pants and a red button-down blouse with a black cardigan sweater over that. As we made our way to say our hello’s, I made sure to put myself in a position where I could check to see what kind of shoes she was wearing that day. I must admit that I feel like a sleeze typing that out, but I guess it’s something that my mind is just programmed to do now. She was wearing heels again that day. A pair of black booties with a stiletto heel. They looked great, in a conservative sort of way. But they also looked uncomfortable as anything. The height of the booties extended to under her pant leg, though, so there was no confirmation of what she had on underneath those booties, but knowing her history, I wasn’t giving it all that much thought.
As it would turn out, dinner that night would be delayed. Just random miscalculations of cooking time on the part of the host/chef of the evening. Nothing absurd but dinner was being pushed back by an hour or so. That wasn’t necessarily unusual for this bunch, as events tended to run a little late usually on account of someone being late to the event. What made it unusual this Thanksgiving day was that everyone was there. Waiting. And hungry.
As the clock ticked on, Kelly eventually found herself in the living room, sitting on the couch as I would find out. I had been sitting at the “formal” dining table making small talk with the in-laws when I got up to check out what was going on in the living room, where the “younger” crowd was sitting.
To get to the living room from the “formal” table, one had to walk past the “informal” table, where Kelly had been sitting earlier. Catching my eye on the floor under the table was a pair of ankle booties with stiletto heel, one standing upright and one sitting on its side. My earlier hunch must have been right - surely they had been uncomfortable for her. Still, though, I wasn’t giving it all that much thought, for as I said, the few times she had taken her shoes off, she’d been in socks. Of course, not that I would ever do anything regardless, but I didn’t think much of her taking her shoes off.
Until I made it to the living room.
The living room was large and had just an absolutely ginormous couch in it. It was a leather sectional that seemed to extend forever before curving to form an “L” shape. At the top of what would be the capital portion of the “L” was a chaise section of the couch, so the couch wasn’t a true “L” in that sense. The chaise part was closest to the living room door and was also where Kelly was seated. Her upper body absorbed into the fluffiness of the back of the couch. Her arm resting on the arm of the couch. Head sitting in her hand as she strummed through her phone, clearly wanting to be anywhere but where she was. Legs stretched out on the chaise. Her short stature making it so her feet barely reached the end of the chaise, her nylon-covered soles facing into the middle of the room.
Nylon-covered soles???
Could it be?? Was I seeing things? Nope. There they were. As plain as day. Only anything but plain. A pair of nude-colored nylons adorned her feet for the first time that I had ever seen.
I casually took my seat in the living room, sitting on the floor next to the chaise portion of the couch. Of course, that put me in the direct eye-line of the nylons that were now a mere inches from me.
Small victory, right? As I said, I wasn’t about to do anything, regardless. Certainly not at this point in my life. Just maybe steal a few glimpses here and there. Hope it’s the start of a trend for the future? Hope it maybe gives someone else the idea to do the same? But as for any action? Nope. Not me.
But, of course, I wasn’t the only one there…
And, of course, when the main course is delayed and the appetizers have been picked through, what one usually goes to next is the alcohol. And as this family was already fond of the beverage to begin with, it didn’t need much to get the liquid flowing. They were (are) all skilled drinkers, usually requiring a lot to get completely inebriated (which is a… good thing? maybe?). But they were certainly in the “buzzed” stage at this point, their relatively empty stomachs not aiding matters.
One such person was my father-in-law. He’s a nice enough fellow who generally kept to himself. They’d never admit it, of course, but neither my mother-in-law nor my father-in-law particularly cared for Kelly. My mother-in-law would be more vocal about it outside of Kelly and her husband’s company - as mother-in-laws are wont to do - but my father-in-law never really vocalized his dislike. Still, anyone who knew my father-in-law’s mannerisms and quirks could tell from his poker face that he really didn’t care for her all that much, despite whatever facade that he was putting on.
Part of me still wonders if it was that internalized dislike - fueled by a few heavy margaritas, of course - that drove him to his next action. Without so much as a peep, he got up from his spot on the other end of the couch and walked towards the living room door. As he walked by the chaise portion of the couch, though, he stopped, and in one swift motion, both pinned Kelly’s ankles down to the couch with one hand and began furiously tickling the bottom of both of her feet with the other, singing “Cootchie cootchie coo” as he danced his fingers atop their target.
Of course, from my seat on the floor, I had a literal front row viewing. Perhaps my favorite element of the entire thing was watching Kelly’s face as she reacted to what was happening. Understand that this is something that my father-in-law just had never done before (or since). So even if Kelly were the type of person to constantly have “tickle” on the mind - and trust me, she wasn’t - there was no reason for her to think that her father-in-law would be capable of such an attack. Her face went from uninterested as she searched through her phone to confused as her father-in-law pinned her ankles to hysterical as the ticklish sensations registered. She had tried to ask my father-in-law what he was doing when she processed that he was pinning her ankles down, but by the time her brain processed that information and relayed the message to her mouth, my father-in-law had already begun tickling, answering Kelly’s question before she could ask it. So all that came out was, “What are you AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”.
I couldn’t believe it. Any of it. I couldn’t believe that Kelly had worn nylons. I couldn’t believe that my father-in-law would do something like this. I couldn’t believe that Kelly was even ticklish! She just always seemed to be someone who was “above” being ticklish. Not that one can consciously control that, but her inflated sense of self would seem to suggest that she wouldn’t have such a “childish” weakness.
But boy did she ever!
My father-in-law’s technique wasn’t great - seemingly an experienced tickler to begin with but dexterity diminished a bit by the very alcohol that was likely fueling him to action. Still, it was more than enough to have its effect on Kelly, who couldn’t contain her laughter for even a second. Without time to prepare for the assault, she had been instantly overcome - not that having time to prepare would have done her any good, it appeared - and she tried desperately to pull her feet to safety.
My father-in-law is a big guy. Big. Strong. Hulking. Especially during this time frame. So most would already have been at a strength disadvantage to begin with. Kelly especially so, though. For one, she was a good twelve inches - if not more - shorter than my father-in-law and - while not out of shape by any means - it was clear that she didn’t head to the weight lifting area all that often when she’d go to the gym. And if that weren’t enough, even if the ‘fight’ had started fair and equal, Kelly’s non-stop laughter was only draining more and more strength from her reservoir, and soon enough, she had resigned herself to the fact that there was no way she would be pulling her ankles free from his grip; she was truly at his mercy at this moment.
My father-in-law had a giant smile on his face. Partly because of the hilarity of the situation, I’m sure. But I’m sure also partly because of the significance of the situation. He and his family had sat back and basically “taken” all of Kelly’s snide remarks through the years without confrontation, so this little measure of revenge might be all he would ever be able to get; it was clear that he was going to savor the moment.
Kelly, on the other hand, was clearly in agony. Having given up on the chance of freeing herself from her capture, she had fallen back into the couch, her head looking up at the ceiling as it pressed against the back of the couch, her laughter filling the entire house. Unable to form words, she was tapping her hands against the couch to signal defeat, to hope for mercy. But no mercy would come.
I remember as I watched this just being completely in awe at how ticklish Kelly seemed to be. Objectively, my father-in-law’s technique was horrible. He was wiggling his fingers as one would were he trying to “tickle the air”, but he was doing so against Kelly’s feet. What resulted was, more often than not, half of his fingers not even making contact with Kelly’s feet. It was the same technique I had seen other inexperienced ticklers awkwardly fumble through when flirting with girls back in high school or college - enough to produce a response or at least confirm ticklishness but not enough to do any sort of “tickle torture” to the person.
Except that was clearly the effect it was having on Kelly.
By now, it had only been about 15 or 20 seconds - which I’m sure felt like 15 or 20 minutes for Kelly - but her hysterical laughter was drawing a crowd in the house as others had come in to see what all the commotion was about. Realizing that everyone was watching her be humiliated (in her eyes), Kelly gathered whatever breath she could in between her laughter and called out for her husband: “HONEY!!! HELPPP!!!!”
It took her husband a few seconds to enter the living room, but when he did, he found humor in the situation that his wife surely did not. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “Well, well, well… Look what sort of trouble you went and got yourself into now... “ acting as if he were an admonishing parent. The entire room chuckled, all, no doubt, happy to see Kelly taken down a few pegs.
Clearly that was not the answer Kelly was looking for, and she again begged for intervention: “BABE!!! MAKE HIM STOP!!” through her laughter.
Continuing his admonishing parent routine, her husband just said, “You got yourself into this mess and now you’re going to have to find a way out.”
The father-in-law took this as a signal to continue - not that he had ever stopped in the first place. I remember watching Kelly and wondering how much she had to have been HATING every second of being reduced as she was in front of “these people”. Yes, being tickled is torture enough for some, I’m sure, but to have such a weakness fully displayed to a group of people that you had never hidden your disdain for -- if her mind had been able to form coherent thoughts, I’m sure she’d have been hating every second of it.
But there were no coherent thoughts to be had for Kelly, who was entering the silent laughter stage, her body unable to gather the strength even to form the laughter. Her face was beet red and tears were going down her cheeks (I’m sure she hated having to re-do her makeup after this) and she just looked… defeated.
I also remember thinking that this was one of the few times I had ever seen Kelly even really laugh. Like, REALLY laugh. Sure, she had done the fake laugh before trying to show that she was listening to what people had to say, but she had never done a full laugh before. There’s a woman named Loretta LaRoche who used to do PBS specials during their campaign week, and she’s comment on how people laugh like they have a mouth full of marbles and they don’t want to drop any - that described Kelly to a T. But boy oh boy was she doing a full laugh now.
Clearly she was beyond embarrassed at this point, as she was covering her face with her hands to hide her face as she laughed. She had, essentially, given up entirely, her husband now not even coming to her aid. There was literally nothing else she could do at this point except accept her fate and laugh and laugh and laugh until her father-in-law showed her some mercy.
It was at this point that my father-in-law either took notice of or finally thought of where he might be able to get the best reaction from Kelly. Up to this point, his “wiggle the fingers in the air” strategy had danced all around the bottom of Kelly’s feet, never stopping in a single spot for long. Now, though, he had a target and after a split-second pause to regroup, he directed all of his fingers onto Kelly’s arch.
I’m not sure words will be able to describe Kelly’s reaction accurately enough. Her body shot like it had been electrocuted and a new wave of maniacal laughter erupted from within. Her body shot so much that she was now almost trying to climb over the armrest of the couch, if one can picture it. From my vantage point, I could no longer see her face, but I could see her furiously tapping against the side of the couch, unable to form any words. He had clearly found her weak spot.
Despite my wordy tale, at this point, it’s maybe 45 seconds at most - certainly under a minute - of Kelly being under tickle attack, and this was when the others in the room started to reign my father-in-law in. It started with my wife’s aunt. Then my mother-in-law. Then finally Kelly’s husband. At long last, Kelly was free. As soon as my father-in-law removed his vice-grip from her ankles, she quickly pulled them into safety, tucking them to the side of her body in the corner of the couch so no one else would be able to get at them should anyone have any ideas. She lay there, laughing, catching her breath, for another minute or so as the onlookers disbursed and went back to wondering when food would be served.
Kelly would eventually get up and, after retrieving her shoes and putting them back on, would head to the powder room to re-do her makeup. Not a word of it was spoken for the rest of the night, but you could sense what had happened. Kelly had been knocked down a few pegs, for sure. My in-laws didn’t need to confront her or have an awkward conversation with her or cause any fights. All it took was a good, old-fashioned tickling.
I saw Kelly in nylons maybe twice more following this event. One, unexpectedly, was on New Year’s Day of the same year, when she came over to the house wearing jeans, nylons, and standard pumps. The only other time I saw her in nylons was at a wake of a family friend.
Fortunately/Unfortunately, she would leave the family a short time after that, other issues outside of this story coming between her and her husband. I’ve only seen her once or twice since. She’s moved on with her life and still seems to maintain a certain air of superiority to her, but the years haven’t been as kind to her as she entered her 30s - not that they are to many, myself included. Still, there’ll always be that day, Thanksgiving afternoon, to remind us that even those who consider themselves perfect have their weaknesses.
As per my usual, I ended up being a bit verbose in setting the scene, so apologies in advance if you were expecting more.
This happened maybe about 10 years or so ago at this point. My wife comes from a large immediate family with many brothers. At this point in time, I had already married into the family. Only one of her brothers had married when this story occurred, and that wife is the subject of the story.
We’ll call her Kelly to keep things simple. Kelly was… something else, that’s for sure. She’d have been in her early 20s at the time of this tale and she was living the life. Without exaggerating and mentioning only subjectively, Kelly was beautiful. But the problem was that she knew it And her attitude showed that she knew it. My in-laws aren’t necessarily an easy bunch to get used to, but outside of her husband, she showed she had little time for any one else in the family. She tolerated me as a fellow “outsider” and we had some distant mutual friends, but were it not for those two factors, I’m sure she wouldn’t have given me the time of day if I asked. My brother-in-law had definitely opted for the “Queen of Diamonds” with this wife.
Not that she was necessarily a horrible person. She just had this air about her that made it seem like she felt she was better than everyone else --- and she didn’t try to hide it. And no matter what we all did, something in her life was better somewhere else. We had a nice Christmas Eve dinner? “Well, in my family, we usually do…” Someone graduated college? “Well, my cousin just graduated from…” That sort of thing.
But let’s get to that particular Thanksgiving… It was already somewhat of a “memorable” Thanksgiving Day - in my eyes, anyways - simply because of Kelly’s outfit that day. Anyone who has ever spoken with me or has ever read any of my stories knows my affinity for nylons. And anyone who shares that affinity with me also knows that, depending on a number of variables, you can go quite a long time between seeing someone wearing nylons. Kelly NEVER wore nylons. The potential had been there, sure. We had been to weddings together. Family holidays. She had worn heels countless times. But I had ever seen her in nylons. Heck, she would rarely ever even take her shoes off, and those times that she did, she’d usually have socks on.
Until this day.
Kelly and her husband had been one of the first to arrive, as they usually were, since they were usually the first ones to leave immediately after dinner. They were already there by the time we arrived. As per usual, she was seated in the corner of the “second table” - the bar height table where people dined on appetizers - while most of the extended family was either in the living room or at the “primary table” - the more formal dining table - chatting away.
Kelly looked nice that evening. She usually dressed nice. She was wearing a pair of black dress pants and a red button-down blouse with a black cardigan sweater over that. As we made our way to say our hello’s, I made sure to put myself in a position where I could check to see what kind of shoes she was wearing that day. I must admit that I feel like a sleeze typing that out, but I guess it’s something that my mind is just programmed to do now. She was wearing heels again that day. A pair of black booties with a stiletto heel. They looked great, in a conservative sort of way. But they also looked uncomfortable as anything. The height of the booties extended to under her pant leg, though, so there was no confirmation of what she had on underneath those booties, but knowing her history, I wasn’t giving it all that much thought.
As it would turn out, dinner that night would be delayed. Just random miscalculations of cooking time on the part of the host/chef of the evening. Nothing absurd but dinner was being pushed back by an hour or so. That wasn’t necessarily unusual for this bunch, as events tended to run a little late usually on account of someone being late to the event. What made it unusual this Thanksgiving day was that everyone was there. Waiting. And hungry.
As the clock ticked on, Kelly eventually found herself in the living room, sitting on the couch as I would find out. I had been sitting at the “formal” dining table making small talk with the in-laws when I got up to check out what was going on in the living room, where the “younger” crowd was sitting.
To get to the living room from the “formal” table, one had to walk past the “informal” table, where Kelly had been sitting earlier. Catching my eye on the floor under the table was a pair of ankle booties with stiletto heel, one standing upright and one sitting on its side. My earlier hunch must have been right - surely they had been uncomfortable for her. Still, though, I wasn’t giving it all that much thought, for as I said, the few times she had taken her shoes off, she’d been in socks. Of course, not that I would ever do anything regardless, but I didn’t think much of her taking her shoes off.
Until I made it to the living room.
The living room was large and had just an absolutely ginormous couch in it. It was a leather sectional that seemed to extend forever before curving to form an “L” shape. At the top of what would be the capital portion of the “L” was a chaise section of the couch, so the couch wasn’t a true “L” in that sense. The chaise part was closest to the living room door and was also where Kelly was seated. Her upper body absorbed into the fluffiness of the back of the couch. Her arm resting on the arm of the couch. Head sitting in her hand as she strummed through her phone, clearly wanting to be anywhere but where she was. Legs stretched out on the chaise. Her short stature making it so her feet barely reached the end of the chaise, her nylon-covered soles facing into the middle of the room.
Nylon-covered soles???
Could it be?? Was I seeing things? Nope. There they were. As plain as day. Only anything but plain. A pair of nude-colored nylons adorned her feet for the first time that I had ever seen.
I casually took my seat in the living room, sitting on the floor next to the chaise portion of the couch. Of course, that put me in the direct eye-line of the nylons that were now a mere inches from me.
Small victory, right? As I said, I wasn’t about to do anything, regardless. Certainly not at this point in my life. Just maybe steal a few glimpses here and there. Hope it’s the start of a trend for the future? Hope it maybe gives someone else the idea to do the same? But as for any action? Nope. Not me.
But, of course, I wasn’t the only one there…
And, of course, when the main course is delayed and the appetizers have been picked through, what one usually goes to next is the alcohol. And as this family was already fond of the beverage to begin with, it didn’t need much to get the liquid flowing. They were (are) all skilled drinkers, usually requiring a lot to get completely inebriated (which is a… good thing? maybe?). But they were certainly in the “buzzed” stage at this point, their relatively empty stomachs not aiding matters.
One such person was my father-in-law. He’s a nice enough fellow who generally kept to himself. They’d never admit it, of course, but neither my mother-in-law nor my father-in-law particularly cared for Kelly. My mother-in-law would be more vocal about it outside of Kelly and her husband’s company - as mother-in-laws are wont to do - but my father-in-law never really vocalized his dislike. Still, anyone who knew my father-in-law’s mannerisms and quirks could tell from his poker face that he really didn’t care for her all that much, despite whatever facade that he was putting on.
Part of me still wonders if it was that internalized dislike - fueled by a few heavy margaritas, of course - that drove him to his next action. Without so much as a peep, he got up from his spot on the other end of the couch and walked towards the living room door. As he walked by the chaise portion of the couch, though, he stopped, and in one swift motion, both pinned Kelly’s ankles down to the couch with one hand and began furiously tickling the bottom of both of her feet with the other, singing “Cootchie cootchie coo” as he danced his fingers atop their target.
Of course, from my seat on the floor, I had a literal front row viewing. Perhaps my favorite element of the entire thing was watching Kelly’s face as she reacted to what was happening. Understand that this is something that my father-in-law just had never done before (or since). So even if Kelly were the type of person to constantly have “tickle” on the mind - and trust me, she wasn’t - there was no reason for her to think that her father-in-law would be capable of such an attack. Her face went from uninterested as she searched through her phone to confused as her father-in-law pinned her ankles to hysterical as the ticklish sensations registered. She had tried to ask my father-in-law what he was doing when she processed that he was pinning her ankles down, but by the time her brain processed that information and relayed the message to her mouth, my father-in-law had already begun tickling, answering Kelly’s question before she could ask it. So all that came out was, “What are you AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”.
I couldn’t believe it. Any of it. I couldn’t believe that Kelly had worn nylons. I couldn’t believe that my father-in-law would do something like this. I couldn’t believe that Kelly was even ticklish! She just always seemed to be someone who was “above” being ticklish. Not that one can consciously control that, but her inflated sense of self would seem to suggest that she wouldn’t have such a “childish” weakness.
But boy did she ever!
My father-in-law’s technique wasn’t great - seemingly an experienced tickler to begin with but dexterity diminished a bit by the very alcohol that was likely fueling him to action. Still, it was more than enough to have its effect on Kelly, who couldn’t contain her laughter for even a second. Without time to prepare for the assault, she had been instantly overcome - not that having time to prepare would have done her any good, it appeared - and she tried desperately to pull her feet to safety.
My father-in-law is a big guy. Big. Strong. Hulking. Especially during this time frame. So most would already have been at a strength disadvantage to begin with. Kelly especially so, though. For one, she was a good twelve inches - if not more - shorter than my father-in-law and - while not out of shape by any means - it was clear that she didn’t head to the weight lifting area all that often when she’d go to the gym. And if that weren’t enough, even if the ‘fight’ had started fair and equal, Kelly’s non-stop laughter was only draining more and more strength from her reservoir, and soon enough, she had resigned herself to the fact that there was no way she would be pulling her ankles free from his grip; she was truly at his mercy at this moment.
My father-in-law had a giant smile on his face. Partly because of the hilarity of the situation, I’m sure. But I’m sure also partly because of the significance of the situation. He and his family had sat back and basically “taken” all of Kelly’s snide remarks through the years without confrontation, so this little measure of revenge might be all he would ever be able to get; it was clear that he was going to savor the moment.
Kelly, on the other hand, was clearly in agony. Having given up on the chance of freeing herself from her capture, she had fallen back into the couch, her head looking up at the ceiling as it pressed against the back of the couch, her laughter filling the entire house. Unable to form words, she was tapping her hands against the couch to signal defeat, to hope for mercy. But no mercy would come.
I remember as I watched this just being completely in awe at how ticklish Kelly seemed to be. Objectively, my father-in-law’s technique was horrible. He was wiggling his fingers as one would were he trying to “tickle the air”, but he was doing so against Kelly’s feet. What resulted was, more often than not, half of his fingers not even making contact with Kelly’s feet. It was the same technique I had seen other inexperienced ticklers awkwardly fumble through when flirting with girls back in high school or college - enough to produce a response or at least confirm ticklishness but not enough to do any sort of “tickle torture” to the person.
Except that was clearly the effect it was having on Kelly.
By now, it had only been about 15 or 20 seconds - which I’m sure felt like 15 or 20 minutes for Kelly - but her hysterical laughter was drawing a crowd in the house as others had come in to see what all the commotion was about. Realizing that everyone was watching her be humiliated (in her eyes), Kelly gathered whatever breath she could in between her laughter and called out for her husband: “HONEY!!! HELPPP!!!!”
It took her husband a few seconds to enter the living room, but when he did, he found humor in the situation that his wife surely did not. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “Well, well, well… Look what sort of trouble you went and got yourself into now... “ acting as if he were an admonishing parent. The entire room chuckled, all, no doubt, happy to see Kelly taken down a few pegs.
Clearly that was not the answer Kelly was looking for, and she again begged for intervention: “BABE!!! MAKE HIM STOP!!” through her laughter.
Continuing his admonishing parent routine, her husband just said, “You got yourself into this mess and now you’re going to have to find a way out.”
The father-in-law took this as a signal to continue - not that he had ever stopped in the first place. I remember watching Kelly and wondering how much she had to have been HATING every second of being reduced as she was in front of “these people”. Yes, being tickled is torture enough for some, I’m sure, but to have such a weakness fully displayed to a group of people that you had never hidden your disdain for -- if her mind had been able to form coherent thoughts, I’m sure she’d have been hating every second of it.
But there were no coherent thoughts to be had for Kelly, who was entering the silent laughter stage, her body unable to gather the strength even to form the laughter. Her face was beet red and tears were going down her cheeks (I’m sure she hated having to re-do her makeup after this) and she just looked… defeated.
I also remember thinking that this was one of the few times I had ever seen Kelly even really laugh. Like, REALLY laugh. Sure, she had done the fake laugh before trying to show that she was listening to what people had to say, but she had never done a full laugh before. There’s a woman named Loretta LaRoche who used to do PBS specials during their campaign week, and she’s comment on how people laugh like they have a mouth full of marbles and they don’t want to drop any - that described Kelly to a T. But boy oh boy was she doing a full laugh now.
Clearly she was beyond embarrassed at this point, as she was covering her face with her hands to hide her face as she laughed. She had, essentially, given up entirely, her husband now not even coming to her aid. There was literally nothing else she could do at this point except accept her fate and laugh and laugh and laugh until her father-in-law showed her some mercy.
It was at this point that my father-in-law either took notice of or finally thought of where he might be able to get the best reaction from Kelly. Up to this point, his “wiggle the fingers in the air” strategy had danced all around the bottom of Kelly’s feet, never stopping in a single spot for long. Now, though, he had a target and after a split-second pause to regroup, he directed all of his fingers onto Kelly’s arch.
I’m not sure words will be able to describe Kelly’s reaction accurately enough. Her body shot like it had been electrocuted and a new wave of maniacal laughter erupted from within. Her body shot so much that she was now almost trying to climb over the armrest of the couch, if one can picture it. From my vantage point, I could no longer see her face, but I could see her furiously tapping against the side of the couch, unable to form any words. He had clearly found her weak spot.
Despite my wordy tale, at this point, it’s maybe 45 seconds at most - certainly under a minute - of Kelly being under tickle attack, and this was when the others in the room started to reign my father-in-law in. It started with my wife’s aunt. Then my mother-in-law. Then finally Kelly’s husband. At long last, Kelly was free. As soon as my father-in-law removed his vice-grip from her ankles, she quickly pulled them into safety, tucking them to the side of her body in the corner of the couch so no one else would be able to get at them should anyone have any ideas. She lay there, laughing, catching her breath, for another minute or so as the onlookers disbursed and went back to wondering when food would be served.
Kelly would eventually get up and, after retrieving her shoes and putting them back on, would head to the powder room to re-do her makeup. Not a word of it was spoken for the rest of the night, but you could sense what had happened. Kelly had been knocked down a few pegs, for sure. My in-laws didn’t need to confront her or have an awkward conversation with her or cause any fights. All it took was a good, old-fashioned tickling.
I saw Kelly in nylons maybe twice more following this event. One, unexpectedly, was on New Year’s Day of the same year, when she came over to the house wearing jeans, nylons, and standard pumps. The only other time I saw her in nylons was at a wake of a family friend.
Fortunately/Unfortunately, she would leave the family a short time after that, other issues outside of this story coming between her and her husband. I’ve only seen her once or twice since. She’s moved on with her life and still seems to maintain a certain air of superiority to her, but the years haven’t been as kind to her as she entered her 30s - not that they are to many, myself included. Still, there’ll always be that day, Thanksgiving afternoon, to remind us that even those who consider themselves perfect have their weaknesses.
Thanks for sharing your experience here. 
