Easter Sunday today. Everyone gets a big chocolate Easter egg. The symbol of new life. Yummy. The pickle devours his egg almost immediately and then steals some of my smaller ones from the hunt around the garden. Cheeky little tyke.
He learnt how to tie his own shoelaces yesterday. He'll be getting 10 quid and a new pair of sneakers for it. Those were the days, when anything done well earns praise or reward. At my age, it's all about self-motivation and fulfilment.
The pickle drags me away from my latop despite my addiction to the stranger. He gets me to play football with him despite my superior physique, swapping between striker and keeper. Bored, we turn to his diabolo 空竹 where I manage to toss and catch it four times in a row. The pickle gets jealous after trying many times but his cuteness redeems him.
I take him to the park in the evening while the sun shines in all its majesty and glory. The pickle tries to out-cycle me with his six-gear mountain bike while I run in loose jeans and converse shoes. He learns how to swing himself on the swing and tries to out-swing me. His naiveness gets the better of me. He beats me on the obstacle course but only because it's designed for small little pickles like himself. He outwits me at the maze and I finally concede defeat.
I buy him ice pellets and have an ice cream myself. He's only seven years old and already talking to me about Cambridge's winning strategy on the Thames and the gene which confers obesity to some people. The pickle reminds me of my dreams.
I'm here to fulfil them.
To achieve my destiny.
I've got my edge back.
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