Last night I went to my SIL's house so that my BIL could give me the first of a series of three vaccinations against Hepatitis A&B in preparation for our vacation in May-hee-co. Good times.
On the way to their house in the car, Mr. Happy, who had already been to see Dr. Johnny for his needle, asked me if I was nervous. I admitted that I was, but I reminded him that while he was playing with puppies and kittens as a child, I was receiving weekly, then monthly, then bi-monthly injections. While I'm not nearly as brave as those who give themselves injections on a daily basis, Mr. Happy had to admit that I won the "who has had more needles" peeing match.
The story:
When I was about 11, my parents agreed that I should receive "allergy shots" so that I wouldn't start gasping for air and scratching out my own eyes the moment I came into contact with my favourite allergens (i.e. Cute fuzzy animals, pollen that floats in the air and a list about as long as my arm). I think they also did it to because the dark circles under my eyes were pretty alarming in an 11 year old kid - I looked like I had developed a taste for late nights of boozing and playing poker in smokey rooms.
Sometimes I think those needles were a form of torture that my parents devised along with my doctor. I'm still vague about the ultimate purpose of the torture (other than to prevent the horrendous allergic reactions that plagued me during my youth), but I do vividly remember them bribing me: the first needle earned me a pair of earrings - which I still have. But the regular bribe was a new book and a nice supper of baby scallops at what was our favourite seafood restaurant in Saint John - Grannan's. That one time when I was nervously swinging my feet and kicked the doctor by accident, well, I don't remember getting a new book that night.
Last night, as Dr. Johnny was putting away the needle and Mr. Happy played nurse by putting the bandage on my arm, my SIL told me a couple of cute little stories about Pippin:
My SIL and Pippin were out for a walk when a silver car drove down their street and parked at the house next door. Pippin stopped in his tracks and strained at the leash - staring at the car and wagging his tail. My SIL couldn't figure out what was going on until the people got out of the car: Pippin's tail stopped wagging and he turned to her with a disappointed look on his face. She realized that he had thought the silver car was ours.
It was as if he had been walking down the street and half waved at someone he thought he knew, then realized his mistake and walked away embarrassed.
Pippin loves his Auntie Sessanie. tee hee.
The Band-Aid left more of a mark than the needle
On the way to their house in the car, Mr. Happy, who had already been to see Dr. Johnny for his needle, asked me if I was nervous. I admitted that I was, but I reminded him that while he was playing with puppies and kittens as a child, I was receiving weekly, then monthly, then bi-monthly injections. While I'm not nearly as brave as those who give themselves injections on a daily basis, Mr. Happy had to admit that I won the "who has had more needles" peeing match.
The story:
When I was about 11, my parents agreed that I should receive "allergy shots" so that I wouldn't start gasping for air and scratching out my own eyes the moment I came into contact with my favourite allergens (i.e. Cute fuzzy animals, pollen that floats in the air and a list about as long as my arm). I think they also did it to because the dark circles under my eyes were pretty alarming in an 11 year old kid - I looked like I had developed a taste for late nights of boozing and playing poker in smokey rooms.
Sometimes I think those needles were a form of torture that my parents devised along with my doctor. I'm still vague about the ultimate purpose of the torture (other than to prevent the horrendous allergic reactions that plagued me during my youth), but I do vividly remember them bribing me: the first needle earned me a pair of earrings - which I still have. But the regular bribe was a new book and a nice supper of baby scallops at what was our favourite seafood restaurant in Saint John - Grannan's. That one time when I was nervously swinging my feet and kicked the doctor by accident, well, I don't remember getting a new book that night.
Last night, as Dr. Johnny was putting away the needle and Mr. Happy played nurse by putting the bandage on my arm, my SIL told me a couple of cute little stories about Pippin:
I love this photo of Pippin
My SIL and Pippin were out for a walk when a silver car drove down their street and parked at the house next door. Pippin stopped in his tracks and strained at the leash - staring at the car and wagging his tail. My SIL couldn't figure out what was going on until the people got out of the car: Pippin's tail stopped wagging and he turned to her with a disappointed look on his face. She realized that he had thought the silver car was ours.
It was as if he had been walking down the street and half waved at someone he thought he knew, then realized his mistake and walked away embarrassed.
Pippin loves his Auntie Sessanie. tee hee.
Pippin is so sweet and gives good kisses!
ReplyDeleteThat story is too cute. Poor Pippin. El Toro swears that when I'm away, my cat keeps checking the bed all morning - in case I might spontaneously appear in it, I suppose!
ReplyDeleteI feel so honoured to have met Pippin last night when Mr Happy came to pick you up.
ReplyDeleteI LOVE HIM (the dog, I mean. I really like Andrew and all, but caps would be a little inappropriate, and creepy.) I just wanted to snorgle him, and well, I may or may not have made an arse of myself in front of your husband.
Pippin will make the perfect husband for Sophie someday. I think an arranged marriage is in order. Pippin is her soulmate.
My allergy and allergy shot story is very similar to yours, but I didn't get bribes! Damn. :)
ReplyDelete