When I was young my mum had to take me to the doctor. I don’t remember exactly what was wrong with me, but whatever it was became urgent enough for me to need to see the next available doctor instead of waiting for an appointment with my normal doctor.
After diagnosing my symptoms, the doctor prescribed me some medicine and told me that if I wasn’t better in three days time he would eat his hat.
There are no words strong enough to explain the kind of impact this had on me. Being approximately six years old, I could think of nothing more amazing than watching a grown man eat his own hat. I began to desperately hope that I would not get better.
I considered not taking my medication, but my mum cared about me more than she cared about watching a man eat a hat, so I had no choice but to swallow the yucky medicine every day. I prayed that the medicine would have no effect on me.
I should have had enough sense to realise that no qualified doctor would make a bet to do something exceedingly unhealthy if they thought there was a possibility they would have to follow through with it. And so, with bitter disappointment, I reluctantly had to admit that in three days time I had made a full recovery.
To this day I still wonder what it would have been like to watch an educated, professional man eat a hat. Because I doubt I’ll ever get to see the real thing I’ll have to settle for this cartoon interpretation.
No comments:
Post a Comment