I went to see my doctor on Thursday morning. He laughed and laughed and laughed at me. The dork!
But after the tangle I got myself into two Friday nights ago I guess I really shouldn’t blame the man for laughing. Nevertheless, in the best interest of our my-money-in-his-pocket relationship he should have limited the laughing to 15 seconds.
Instead he went on much like my parrots do on a rainy morning; squawking, squealing as if the cats are out to get their heads. I guess he saw the irritation on my face because he then proceeded to remind me that he’d known me since I was “flat chested”.
I’m rolling my eyes at this point. All his front teeth are really dentures so there really would be no satisfaction in punching them out. Hmph! So he advises me that I really ought to cover my mammary glands and writes me up for three sessions with the needle.
My pains, or rather how I went about acquiring my pains, really did amuse the man. It’s irritating to know that my sufferings are a source of amusement for people.
So do you really want to know what tickled dear old doctor so? Well let me give you some background first. Growing up I wasn’t the “dolly house” sort of girl. I didn’t bake mud cakes and I most certainly didn’t play “mother” in the little pretend games. I climbed coconut trees, I pretended to be a cane cutter and I built fences and tended to pretend animals.
I’ve been to the good old doc after falling out of genip, golden apple, mango, star apple, jamoon and cashew trees. Nope, this is not an exaggerated list. I really did slip clean out of those trees. Then there was the time I had to get my hand bandaged after I got a nasty little cut from punching a classmate in the face back in high school.
“Tomboying”, as doc calls it, just never has worked out in my favour. I think one of my greater fears is perhaps being a “sissy”. I’m tough; I love being the way I am, I can change my own light bulbs thank-you-very-much.
Now back to why the doc was flashing his dentures and irritating the daylights out of good, pleasant me. You see, and don’t laugh, I sort of, kind of lost my keys which include the keys to my house and gate. I lost two sets actually. So that Friday night I got home from work late (a usual thing with me) and ka-boom! The gate was locked!
My uncle got in before me that night two Fridays ago, thought I was home and locked the gate; a pretty iron structure painted in gold and white. I still like to think of myself as a bouncy tomboy so I figured I could climb over our bandit-proof gate, barbed wire and all. Need I say more?
I got stuck on top the gate with some barbed wire in my shoulder. A pretty sight I must have made indeed! I was just praying that no one would look out their window and see me! Big me stuck on top the gate!
Are you laughing? Aww man. You think I stayed stuck up there? No way! I untangled myself, which only made the wound worse and I hopped down with dignity in place. The cut got infected so now my shoulder is in pain as well as the place where I got the tetanus shot and my doc will never let me live this one down.
So you tomboys think you still have it in you? You think you can jump over that gate or that fence or fetch that box all by yourself? Oh please. Get a life. You’re older now. The bones just don’t flex like they used to! (srh.midnight@gmail.com)
