When I was much younger, I had one thought that kept me calm in the face of wild dog attacks. As I walked through their kingdom to the porch of that fine area girl i was crushing on, I’d hear their sinister growl and notice them looking like they’re not looking –through the corner of their eyes.
The playful house-help would say “Herh Rambo!” and dismiss it as if nothing could go wrong. “Chain the bloody hound!” my head screamed “what if Rambo goes gaga?! Huh, whose tiaps were on the line?” But I had to show face. I had to master the art of walking briskly without seeming like I was running. I had to hide my fright without insulting the dog’s wildness.
Then when she left me in the porch to go get Phyllis, and Rambo called out my spirit with his throaty growl, I’d think “I’m older than you canine, I am the older one! At best you’re what, two years? Well even my kid brother is older than you. So if you don’t respect, I’ll show you where the power lies!” It worked a little, but I’m yet to meet a Rambo who cares about that.
But alas, age does count for something. Ideally it correlates with growing up. Just the other day Goldinwords reached for something atop the fridge and I noticed armpit hair! I was like herh! Where did you get that hair? Then I realized how silly a question it was. Our baby is all grown up now, and in blog life, 6 years is more like 24. That means she’s very ripe for marriage. Lol, bride price anybody?
But it’s a very significant milestone for many reasons, and here’s where I’d like to speak with you;
Cant say it enough times. Thank you for sticking around and being such a source of inspiration and help. Don’t be in a hurry to go anywhere. Let’s turn this a notch higher, shall we?
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