How fitting that the first Mister in the series of Mr. Men is a bonafide creeper. This children’s tale starts out seemingly harmless, with Mr. Tickle using his long tickle arms industriously to reach for cookies in the kitchen from the comfort of his own bedroom. I won’t judge; if I had long rubbery arms, I probably would do the same.
But it quickly spirals downhill from there as his actions become increasingly inappropriate. He tickles a teacher from behind a classroom window, then goes after the green grocer, and the poor postman isn’t spared either.
By the end of the tale, us wary readers are warned that perhaps at this very moment, as we’re reading the story in our bedrooms, Mr. Tickles could be reaching his long arms through the doorway to cop a feel tickle you.
Bear in mind I read this book at the age of six; there really should have been a parental warning on the front cover. Perhaps this explains why tickles have always creeped me out.
Parents tickle babies to coax a laugh. Toddlers tickle each other because monkey see monkey do. Uncles should not tickle nieces. Ever.
Which brings us to the pre-adolescent tickling. Take a moment to recall your list of Mr. Tickles from your younger years … boys who used to torment you in the playground all of the sudden take interest in tickling you. They no longer despise you, but do not have the skill to flirt using words yet, so in a complete stroke of genius, they regress to their toddler self and employ the tickle tactic in hopes that their hands will fortuitously land somewhere … rewarding.
The most harmless is the full-out tickle fight where arms and fingers are flailing everywhere, and this is the least awkward as you actually do have to work hard at defending yourself, because it really does tickle.
Then there’s the up the arm slowly to the nape of the neck tickle, which is usually accompanied by nervous giggling, and then a fixed stare filled with longing, hormones, and so many unspoken words. Likely the reason for sex-ed starting in second grade.
My Mr.Tickles mostly employed the come from behind surprise poke on each side of waist tickle, which became the source of so much insecurity. I’ll always have a little extra skin in and around the waist area, so when two uninvited fingers decide to invade that space, well, I think I can safely say that there isn’t a single girl in the world who enjoys being having her flabby bits prodded at. Poke my cheekbones if you really have the urge to touch me, I feel secure about those.
And then after eight weeks of summer, you return to school to find they’ve grown out of this stage. Now all they think about is making out behind the parking lot. Which is better anyway because you can slap them silly for being such wankers. It’s harder to hit a boy for wanting to tickle you.
Tell me, who’s your Mr. Tickle?
