In retaliation, I squeezed him so tight he gasped before reaching behind to tickle me. I squealed and let out a giggle. A giggle. The sound stopped as quickly as it came. The grown adult woman inside of me blanched to even think about that word. I wasn’t a character in a middle-school Baby-Sitters Club book. Grown women didn’t giggle. But I could think of no other word to describe the high-pitched yapping that exited my mouth. In a panic, my brain rushed to think of something else to describe it, tapping into the well-used thesaurus in my head. Chortle? Snigger? No. There had been no sarcasm
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