Okay. I had to fit those words in somehow. I cannot recall a time I have ever actually said those words before this week. My husband and I were laying in bed after the kids had gone to school (I selfishly love his crazy hours). And he proceeded to tickle me. I think I scared him silly when to get him to stop, I started yelling, “Bonk!” But it sounded more like a “honk” from a semi-truck being blasted through the horn of a fifty year old bouncer at the end of a long shift guarding the door to a room full of frogs that he had spent years trying to imitate.

Tickle.

“BONK!”

Tickle.

“BONK!”

Tickle.

“BONK!”

It was at this point that one of us erupted into a fit of laughter. And for the first time in history, it wasn’t the person being tickled.

“I think you broke my laugh box,” he said to me.

“Yea, well, that’ll teach you.”

Teach him what? That somewhere in the depths of my soul a semi-truck bred with a crazy clown and the only offspring they managed to produce was a terrifying sound?

I have to wonder what other freaky infant noises are being harbored in my soul.

“BONK!”

That baby might just be the most annoying creation in history. I need to quiet the urge.

Tickle.

“BO-“