I gave a talk in church a couple weeks ago and a request was made for my Tickle story...
When I was 6 or 7 there was a deoderant advertised on TV called Tickle. The commercial showed women overjoyed about putting on this TICKLE deoderant and having a marvelous time doing so. An every day task became a transcendent experience filled with laughter and more laughter. For weeks, I pined for such an experience. Lucky for me, Easter was approaching...and my mother conveniently knew of my "secret" desire. I remember looking for my basket with a concentrated swiftness known only to children who love candy. From room to room and I quickly went until, at last, behind the brown paneled television, which in fact, was the perpetuator of all this hooplah, was my Easter basket and there, laying on a bed of green grass was my very own bottle of Tickle. I put it aside and finished my obligatory Easter morning rituals. And then once I had a private moment alone I took out my Tickle deoderant, raised my arm and in great anticipation for that joy, that burst of laughter, I let that ball roll all over my little armpit. I can't describe how stunned I felt when the formula of what was supposed to be deoderant left a cold, wet, sticky and even stinky film in my armpit. So there I stood fanning myself hoping maybe the joy came after a few minutes of drying. Not so. I twisted the lid back on and figured it needed to set up a moment and I'd try again later. When I came back I had all the hope my expectations could hold, but to no avail, I stood again, fanning my armpit, crest fallen. Since that very sad experience I have never trusted those dumb commercials again. Fun Dip is sour, Honeycombs are small and when the dolly pees, it's just a big mess.
