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But—agh!—once this bloke, right, he botched it. Pressed too hard, like he’s grindin’ wheat! Made me mad as a stabbed boar—ruined the whole bloody mood. Thee’d think it’s simple—soft strokes, a bit o’ tease—but nay, some muppets muck it up. Still, when it’s good? Oh, mate, it’s heaven’s own jest—ticklish bliss, muscles singin’ hallelujah. “You’re not hopeless,” Bob’d mutter, and I’d laugh—aye, not with them hands on me!

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I finally make it to the playground, and there’s this group of kids playing tag. They’re screaming and laughing, and I can’t help but smile. It’s like, pure joy, you know? But then, one of them trips and falls. I’m thinking, “Oh no, not again!” But he just gets up and keeps running. Kids are tough, man.

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