I feel compelled to write you concerning a most wondrous strange phenomenon. I have, these past 40 months, made the intimate acquaintance of a patient of mine, Dr Chuckle. Dr Chuckle, to all opinion, is a jolly good sort of fellow. What he lacks in stature, he more than makes up for in mirth and compassion. It would not be unheard of for the two of us to while an afternoon playing games and singing songs. I have of late, however, noticed a remarkable change in his demeanor. Come dusk, and the time lay his head upon his pillow and fall into a peaceful and rejuvenating sleep, he morphs into a most undesirable character: Mr Cried. He wails and screams and curses the heavens till I know not what to do. "I HAVE TO PEE!" he cries. And then sits in the water closet but will not relieve himself. "I WANT TO WEAR SOCKS!" he belts. But he will not don a pair, nor will he deign to have someone cover his feet. "I WANT MUMMY!" he bellows. Or, if his mater is present, he calls for his pater. Nothing can be done to assuage him. No answer is correct. I had noted that this dubious change took place at the same time as my estimed colleague, Mr Earth, was called away on dramatic business. I thought the absence of Dr Chuckle's preferred playmate was at fault. However, Mr Earth has since returned from said business, and the antics of Mr Cried have multiplied, not diminished. Come morning, all is as before, and if I confront Dr Chuckle concerning his behaviour, he denies any knowledge of the events. Occasionally, he will issue an insincere apology, with no light of comprehension in his eyes. It is a most distressing transformation in an otherwise utterly congenial patient. I am loathe to allow this behaviour to continue, for fear of joining him on the dark side, reduced to tears and woe myself. Estimed colleagues, be warned. While Dr Chuckle is a most admirable sort, approach him with care should evening fall.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I refuse to be labelled! OK, just this once: the Boy
Made by Andrea Micheloni