More Than A Whinge About The Syringe

(We are the same twins from this story. We are about four years old, and our mum has taken us to the doctors.)

Me: “It’s not needles is it, Mum?”

Mum: “No, it’s not needles.”

Brother: “Are you sure, Mum? Are you sure it’s not needles?”

Mum: “Don’t worry; it’s definitely not needles.”

(We get to the doctors and I go in first with my mum. My brother stays in the waiting room playing with a few toys. I am sat on the chair and the doctor removes a large, shiny syringe from a drawer. Without a moment’s hesitation, I bolt towards the door. I throw it open and make it to the waiting room before my mum manages to grab me. Knowing I am surely doomed, I see my pale-faced brother staring at me as I am dragged back into the doctor’s office.)

Me: *shouting* “Run! It’s NEEDLES!”

(My brother was halfway home before my mum was able to catch up to him!)