When I was 18, my best friend and I decided to work on a farm during the summer. It seemed like an adventure, something different from the usual city life. We worked hard every day—picking vegetables, feeding animals, and cleaning the barn. But in the evenings, when the work was done, we would relax with the farm owner, a kind but mischievous woman named Marta.
Marta had a way of making every evening fun. We would sit in the backyard, drinking cold beer, laughing, and playing cards by the light of a few hanging lamps. The countryside was quiet, the only sounds being crickets and the distant mooing of cows. It was a peaceful time, and I started to feel at home on the farm.
One evening, after a long day of work, Marta suggested we play cards again, but this time, there was a twist—whoever lost would have to face a "penalty." I wasn’t sure what she meant, but the beer was flowing, and I was feeling competitive, so I agreed without much thought.
We played round after round, laughing and teasing each other, but luck wasn’t on my side that night. I ended up losing the final hand. Marta grinned wickedly. "Time for your penalty," she said, and before I knew it, they had me tied to one of the lounge chairs that sat out in the garden.
I thought they were joking at first, but they were serious, and I couldn’t stop laughing. My friend and Marta teamed up, their fingers wiggling in the air like they were preparing for something devious. And then, they started tickling me—light, teasing touches all over my sides, under my arms, and especially on my feet. It was unbearable! I couldn’t stop laughing, squirming as much as the ropes would allow, but there was no escape.
They didn't stop there. Marta grabbed some long blades of grass and started brushing them against my feet, making me laugh even harder. My friend was in tears from laughing along with me. But the final part of the "punishment" was still to come.
Marta went inside and returned with a small bucket of brine water. She dipped a cloth in it and smeared it over my bare feet, grinning the whole time. "Just wait," she said with a wink. I had no idea what she was planning—until she called over a few of the goats from the pen.
I couldn’t believe it. The goats wandered over curiously, sniffing around before finally noticing my briny feet. They began licking, their rough tongues sliding over my soles. It was the strangest, most ticklish sensation, and I could barely breathe from laughing so hard. My friend and Marta were laughing too, watching the goats eagerly lap at my feet like it was some kind of treat.
After what felt like hours—but was probably just a few minutes—they finally let me go. I was breathless, still giggling, my face red from all the laughing. We spent the rest of the evening talking about the ridiculousness of it all, and I knew it would be a story I’d never forget.
That summer on the farm was full of hard work, but the laughter and moments like that made it one of the best experiences of my life.