He was born a Friday morning, also on a Friday and during the afternoon, he graduated with honours, he celebrated his wedding one Friday evening… he considered that he preferred to die a Sunday at midnight, in his bed if at all possible
In London, they ran into this gift store with a collection of tiny horse drawn carriages and a jewel chest that when was opened, would play an exquisite waltz melody… gradually, travelling from one country to another one became more like more like moving to a new house. Since the UK was the last county to visit on their itinerary, the number of suitcases and baggage had multiplied to reach an unthinkable amount of stuff to carry around.
It was precisely in London, where the future father of a descendant yet to be born (and whose gender was like a tossed coin… going ‘round and around describing circles in the air), fell ill due to a British breakfast that did not completely agree with his digestion.
Protesting, moaning, and mainly because of his wife’s persistence… he agreed to a medic visit. Totally in character with the detached and phlegmatic manner of the doctors in that faraway country, without more ado, the doctor informed him in a dry tone that he needed to rest, preferably close to the toilet, and to drink plenty of chamomile tea during the day.
“I am afraid that’s about all that I can do for you, sir. These afflictions require a certain amount of rest and a bit of patience.” Having said that, he nimbly pocketed the bills paid for his services and retired.
“That miserable crook, dressed in black with his top hat! For the amount of pounds, he charged, the least he could have done is give me some pills to help end this matter and not waste a whole day inside a bathroom,” he remarked dejectedly as he saw the impeccably correct man leave, after taking his leave.
© All photos by edudelcorral