April Writers of the #TMAT120

Yes, I’m a week late.  No, it wasn’t intentional.  

I could blame it on the Infernal Revenue Sadists (as the torture they inflict on We The People of the United States makes for a taxing time).   That excuse sounds good, except for one teensy fact: A very kind accountant does my tax returns for me.

No, this faux pas is on me for allowing retirement to all but kill my time-management skills.

My apologies to Morpethroad & LadyLeeManila for my tardiness,

and my thanks to you for sharing your tales of

dental torture

and of

learning about childbirth at the age of 3.



April 6 prompt:  A vignette from your childhood


My mother looked in horror the day the dentist slapped me. I was about five years old and my first visit to the dentist. I wasn’t co-operative, squirming and moving all the while.

The result has been a lifelong fear of the dentist. It’s a place I avoid whenever I can.

In the days when I was a child, the dentist was not the place it is today. Pain was part of the game. One dentist, I went to had his drill set up so that when you looked up there was a train running along an imaginary track as the drill worked its torture on you. Needless to say watching the train was the furthest thing from my mind.



I was three, my big brother was four and we were waiting in the other room, my father was pacing up and down. Until we heard my aunt said: “it’s a girl!” We all rushed in the room, we saw some blood and the baby crying and my mom was on the floor. My aunt told us to “go away, we’re not ready yet.”

Another memory was when our youngest brother was born, I was ten by this time and when we saw him, I thought he was the most gorgeous baby in the world. He had this massive black hair and his skin was all red, his eyes sparkling like diamonds, probably from crying. We’ve got to spoil this kid.

Please join us on May 4th, the first Thursday of the month, and share a bit of yourself with the world.