So a couple nights ago I was reclining on the couch, talking on the phone. It was a survey. When you're one of the six remaining people in the country with a land line, places call wanting to give you surveys about all kinds of things -- politics, TV, radio programming, packaged food products. And I always agree to take the survey, much to the consternation of my wife, who thinks it's pointless and a waste of time. And they really do tend to take forever.
So there I was on the couch giving terse answers to the endless list of dumb questions the paid caller was reading from her list. "Somewhat interested. Very satisfied. Not at all aware." And my irritated wife came over and perched on the edge of the couch, sitting next to me, basically pinning me between herself and the back of the couch. She smiled, sweetly and absently, as her eyes wandered from my face to the rest of my body. And suddenly I twitched uncontrollably -- she'd given my side a little ticklish pinch. Then another one -- her other hand, my other side, another ticklish spasm.
I grimaced at her, silently telling her Cut it out! But then her hands were lifted above me, poised mock-threateningly, her lovely nimble fingers waving slowly in the air, announcing her intention to visit additional tickles upon me. Aw, crap. I was holding the phone to my ear with one hand -- "Somewhat often. Moderately positive" -- and lifting my other one up, holding it between me and her, a meager line of defense. Her right hand spiraled down through the air, alighting on my stomach with spidery fingers, causing my to convulse and suppress a giggle, and then retreating again. Now here came her other hand, fingers dancing on my ribs, another convulsion, and they were gone again. Each time one of her hands dove in for an attack my one free hand darted to block her but I was always too late -- or whenever I did manage to intercept her one hand, suddenly her other hand was scribbling away at my side or abdomen.
I was hopelessly outmatched.
Suddenly this survey seemed like it was going to take forever.
"Now I'd like to gauge your interest in possible future products," the woman on the phone droned on as my wife's fingertips squirmed into my neck just above my collarbone, making me wriggle like a fish.
Her alternating attacks started to come ever-so-slightly more frequently -- fingers on my stomach, fingers on my waistline, a hand darting mischievously into the hollow of my armpit. I was writhing and twitching helplessly on the sofa, struggling to keep the burbling urge to laugh from emerging into my terse responses to the phone survey -- I was her plaything, basically, and I would squirm and thrash as much and for as long as my wife saw fit to make me do so. There was a serenely entertained smile on her face as her gaze wandered across my body, unhurriedly picking her next target. And her next. And her next.
"V-very satisfied," I said. Fingers tweaked my ribs, a series of irresistible pulses applied to my tickle-spots. "SomeWHAT ah ah satisFIED!"
"Just a few more questions," the surveyor said drily.
Oh my God.
My wife's fingers scrambled lazily here and there, up my side, across my stomach. I twisted and floundered in helpless response. My shirt had ridden up because of all my involuntary exertions; I felt her warm fingertips graze my bare abdomen. An amplified jolt shuddered through me -- I wasn't going to be able to hold it together.
"I'm so sorry," I said into the phone. "C-could we finish this another time?"
"Oh, is this a bad time?" the caller asked in her dull monotone.
"It's--" Fingertips cycling lazily against my quivering stomach -- "it's become a, a bad time, maybe another time?"
"I certainly understand but we really have just a few more questions to go..."
Her warm hands continuing their incursion, ambling languidly up my sides. A series of sharp inhales on my part. "I can't, I just can't concentrate."
"I anticipate this will take no more than three more minutes..."
Her fingers drawing circles on my ribs, the chuckles building at the back of my throat. "I'm really sorry I just have to go bye!" I hung up, dropped the phone, seized my wife's wrists through my shirt, throwing my head back and cackling helplessly.
She stopped. She perched her chin cutely on my chest.
"You hungry?" she said.