Over The Hump

I won’t puport to speak for every man but I will speak as a man. Mamma is the standard! However, time comes when the wings she helped nuture have to be used, still her presence and approval remain sacred.

My ‘rib’ came to be. The meet and the dating had yielded an engagement – a costly affair which adds steel to a man’s resolve – and all seemed to go well except for the hump over which my wheel wouldn’t roll. It tormented me some, but I soon made a discovery.

At a party, Aunty made a point: she wanted a date with us. She isn’t the person whose offer one would quickly jump at, this not because she is unpleasant, it is just that she has ‘standards’ – a reality we all respect.

The prospect did not have me wringing hands with worry; I let the day come, and come it did. With colour it came, with voice and with flavour it bobbed – and release it did yield!

From the time he was but a babe, Mamma led the way, handling every weakness and steadying every totter; is it then a wonder that Boy just has to be sure that this take-off is a right move? But Mamma lays in eternal repose. Call it an excuse, but even the best manufacturer must pass his product through some quality assurance mechanism. Aunty did it for me.

Suddenly, my wings bear more strength and are beating hard at the currents. I’m sailing away; I’m off to gather straw for my nest, and hearth to keep it warm.

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