Good Morning Tickle
GOOD MORNING TICKLE
I always craved the attention of my step dad. He worked away a lot and when he came home, I spent every minute trying to be his main focus (which must have been extremely irritating for him). He was usually really tired the first few days he was home, but once he got into a routine, he would be up at the crack of dawn, giving me some company and making his famous eggs and soldiers for breakfast.
It has always been a bit of a competition between Dad and I as to who would wake up first in the morning. Even since leaving home, this has not changed. When Dad is on break, I still sometimes phone him during the early hours of the morning and if by chance I happen to wake him up, I rub it in as much as possible until he manages to get me back.
One particular home break, Dad was more tired than usual and for two days in a row he slept in til 8.30 in the morning. This was frustrating for me, as one of the biggest highlights with dad being home, was that he would cook breakfast and I was sometimes even able to help.
I have no idea what was going on at the time, or why dad was so tired, but I remember complaining about it to mum on the second day, as she had been getting up early to go to work.
When dad made an appearance on the second day, I warned him that if he wasn’t out of bed by 7:00am the following morning, I was going to wake him up with a glass of cold water.
The following morning, I heard mum’s alarm beeping, signalling the time for her to start getting ready for work. I bounded into the bedroom and waited for dad to open his eyes. Mum watched me and smiled.
“How about you make me a coffee first?” I knew she was trying to gain more time for dad, but I rushed off and made her morning coffee anyway. I had only recently been given permission to use the kettle, so making coffee was still a new and exciting experience for me. Needless to say, that didn’t last very long.
I brought her coffee back, then raced back to the kitchen to grab a glass of cold water. I bounded back into the room and nodded to mum for approval. She was sitting up in bed, with her pillows propped up. She looked at me for a moment and hesitated, before shaking her head.
“No, I don’t want to have to change all the sheets.” I sulked off, thinking my fun had been ruined, before remembering that dad had extremely ticklish feet. He always got agro whenever someone or something touched his feet, because they were always so sensitive.
I raced into the laundry and grabbed the soft bristled dog brush and ran back to my parent’s room. Holding up the brush, I lifted up the bottom of the blanket, exposing dad’s feet and glanced at mum once again. This time, she nodded her approval with a cheeky grin.
Doing my best to contain my excitement, I leant over dad’s right foot, so that I could see exactly how far away the bristles were from his foot and I gently ran it along the base of his foot. He twitched and I suppressed my giggle, before leaning over and doing it again.
This time dad woke up, but instead of waking up groggy, as I had expected, he woke with a start, kicking his foot out as a natural response to the tickle. I obviously had not thought it through very well, as I was still leaning directly over his foot.
His foot connected with my chin, lifting me from the ground and propelling me backwards. Mum choked on her coffee and spilled her mug as dad thrashed around still half asleep.
He blinked his eyes and looked around the room, confused. Mum was wiping coffee from her mouth, the bed sheets were covered in the contents of her cup. I was on the floor holding my chin and the dog brush was on the other side of the room.
Suddenly the cup of water looked like it was the better idea, since the sheets were going to need changing anyway. I mustered up my courage enough to collect the dog brush and leave the room, more than a little embarrassed. Mum must have told dad what had happened, because he never asked me. But boy did I get spoilt that day. Dad made me eggs and soldiers for breakfast, which is still my favourite and then he took me out shopping for the day.
I have never tickled dad’s feet again and even though the wake-up war continues; it is a much milder game now.
When mum had said ‘no’ to the cup of water, I was faced with a dilemma. I had told dad that I would wake him up if he hadn’t risen in time and I couldn’t make such a threat and not carry through with it, so I had to find another way to do the job. If I didn’t I would be a liar and I knew from past experience that lying was not a habit I wanted to obtain.