this is a story; it's a little thing

i know a little boy, he is six. he is charming. he is not at all ticklish. i have tried to tickle him on his feet, under his arms, on the back of his neck, on his belly, of course. he doesn't laugh. he doesn't even grin. he told me he trained himself not to laugh. he trained himself not even to grin.

i told a little girl about the little boy. she is four. she was incredulous. she wants to have at him. to try to break him. we were at the beach when i told her of him. she was playing with jelly fish. there are a scourge of them in the ocean these days. i got stung myself on my eye and wondered if i suddenly had palsy.

i told the little boy about the little girl's wish. he said to tell her no, she won't succeed, it'll be a waste of her time. he told me, though, that when his grandpa tickles him, he smiles. i asked if that is because he doesn't want his grandpa to think that the elder man's tickling efforts have grown weak, impotent with age.

the little boy said, 'no. i smile because sometimes i don't want to be left out of all the fun.'