Childhood Memories: The Flower Shop

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As I am getting older, I realise that I won’t remember my early childhood for long. I’m (scarily) moving fast towards adulthood – only a few more years to go! So, I have decided that I would like to share some of my childhood memories with the world simply for the good reading and probably the humour but also so that I can look back and reminisce of care-free childhood! Though some stories may be short whilst others long, I stick to the good ol’ fashion “Quality, not quantity” method. 

– – – 

A typical Scottish day: layers of clouds above us though the occasional beam of light seeping through, some light rain and so on. My mum and me were walking up one of the main streets in my town and we went into a florists – goodness knows what for because although my mum did like flowers she would refuse to pay such exotic prices for something she could grow herself – and my mother began chatting with the multiple female attendants in this extremely small shop.

As I was with any discussion my mother got into, I became extremely bored. I cannot recall an exact age at the time but I am certain I wasn’t yet in school so I think three/ four years old seems adequate. Being so young, whenever I was present where adults were socialising, I took no interest. I much preferred to look around or play a game with myself or think up a story or song or something. Anything was better than listening to the banter of middle-aged adults.

As my mind started to drift into my own little world as enquiries were being made from my mum, I thought I would explore this tiny jungle filled with exotic and rather flamboyant flowers.

I stepped back away from my mum, almost tiptoeing away from here (though the mother’s instinct would have probably known every move I made) and before I knew it, I tripped, not knowing my surroundings, and fell bottom first into a small flower bed in a box. Surprisingly, it was a comfortable fit and the box was just the right size for my rear end.

Naturally, all attention was focused on me. As my mother helped me up (as I comically wiggled around) all the women in the shop gave ferocious outbursts of laughter.  I can vividly remember my exact words for some bizarre reason.

“It’s not funny!”

This, caused even more laughter than before. At this moment, I wasn’t sure if I felt humiliated or if I was enjoying the attention and laughter. I guess I’ll never know but I’m guessing it was a bit of both.

We left the shop in due course with a very light hearted mood. And that is where the memory stops.

I have no idea why this memory stays with me. To this date, that very shop is still open on that very same street and probably with one or two of the same people inside. Whenever I go by the shop, I always give a look in and vividly remember it all whilst giving a small laugh to myself.

I guess it’s just one of those times in your life that you want to remember because of the joy it brought; not necessarily to you but to others.

Though I insisted it wasn’t funny, I now think otherwise. It was funny. End of. It was worth the humiliation. Though I feel more sorry for the poor flowers that were flattened on my impact. 

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