So I Turned 24…
“Nurse!” yelled the doctor as he stood their sweating; his hands shaking. He had asked her to retrieve something very crucial otherwise; one of his patients might not make it. “What was I thinking?” he muttered in to himself. He couldn’t let the patient know that he was starting to get nervous. The trembling hand, holding the needle, inched closer and closer, when all of sudden, the nurse burst through the door holding a bottle of Russia’s best,
40 80 Proof Vladimir Vodka. Everything was going to be ok.
The doctor took three swigs and preceded with the delivery. He poured a shot for the mother-to-be. She was getting a little cranky and needed something to calm her down. The father-to-be came prepared. He drank in the car while he was driving them to the hospital. The nurse took a baby bottle with warm milk and began to mix it, drop by drop with the vodka. This baby was going to be thirsty when he would come out of the womb.
This common misconception of a how Russian’s give birth is a false. The hospitals can’t afford to use real milk, so they use powdered milk instead.
Twenty four years later the baby is now writing this blog. He, of course, is no longer a baby, but he has yet to earn the title of being called a man. In
Life is too short and I need to start completing my goals. Mark my words, by the time I turn 25, I will have wrestled a bear.