Oh Bloody Hell

When I was a kid and we were living in Germany, there was a nursery where my parents would take us if they wanted to go out.  Not a nursery where you grow and sell plants.  A child’s nursery.  Like a daycare center but I only remember going at night.  Although my mom argues that we only paid an overnight visit a couple of times, my brain tells me it was more.

I hated the nursery.  The sight and sound of this thing still throws me into flashback hell, with it’s creepy little tick tock song:

FPT-05Bb- Teaching clock - cropped

Nothing bad ever happened to me there.  In fact the women who worked there were terrific.  I was just like a dog going to the vet.  Planting my feet firmly in the ground, not wanting to go in.  There was no real reason for my fear.

There was nap time at this place.  We would take these naps in a little room with cots.  Once during nap time, I occupied myself by tying the shoes together of the little boy in the next cot over.  Genius.  When he got up, he fell.  The nursery lady on duty asked who did it.  I kept my mouth shut as I pointed right at him.  The boy didn’t even try to defend himself.

The nursery is where I acquired my pretty chin scar.  It was a late rainy night when the folks picked us up.  On the way to the car, I fell on my face and ripped open my chin.  I can still remember the blood soaked towels I had to hold to my face on my way to the hospital. An added bonus was the big light glaring in my face in the ER as I laid (or is it lain?) on a gurney as the on-call doctor did a “butterfly” number on me.  I hated that doctor.

photo
My 40 year old scar

It’s called Karma.  For doing the shoelace thing.  And it’s a pretty little reminder of my evil side.  My alter ego.  She’s fun. Be careful or I’ll ask her to come out to play.  Are you scared?  You should be.  Just don’t turn your head when you are wearing strings.

Mo

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