You know that child like anticipation before the big unveiling of presents on Christmas morning?
Well, it isn’t that feeling that I’m experiencing.
The gut retching churning I have at present could be compared to been told to take myself off to the Dental Nurse. Of course, been obedient. I did. Though not straight away. A few circuits of the sports field needed to be completed. Walking very slowly. One black leather school shoe in front of the other through the wet grass. I still couldn’t come up with a valid reason why I should be seating myself in that dental chair. My imagination and formulation of dreaded diseases weren’t feasible even using my active child brain.
It wasn’t possible.
I was 8 years old.
No adult brain, not yet.
Then I looked over to the Murder House. There stood the dental nurse, wearing her stiff starched white uniform and unfathomable facial expression, looking towards my exact location. On closer inspection, I do believe she was not amused. Deep breath, and my head full of tales that weren’t going to be believed. There’s always hope she will be agreeable and spare me unnecessary pain.
So, you see, history does repeat.
Just with different circumstances though the end result plain to see and no matter how much I try to avoid the inevitable, it is still going to happen, at some point. That pain and out of my control situations.
Life moves on and it’s time to pull on my big girls pants.
I am no longer 8 years old.
Though still full of hope for more good things in life and less of the bad.
I’ve got this and so has the Squire and not a dental nurse in sight.