Dose of Reality

At one point in our lives, my mother decided we were in need of medicine. She must have heard it from Agnes, or else from Arthur Godfrey (if his radio show even had a medical segment.) Anyway, from wherever she had gleaned the information, she thought it in our best interest for us to take 2 Milk of Magnesia tablets weekly, the chosen day being Friday. The little white pills had to be chewed; they tasted awful and had the consistency of chalk. I can remember all 3 of us protesting and I recall gagging, but my mother insisted they were good for us. I don't recall how long we were subjected to this torture. It seemed endless, at least in child time. And it might have been longer until one day my mother was cleaning, probably the requisite intensive spring cleaning of those years. Taking off the couch cushions, and reaching down into the depths at the back of the couch, she made a discovery---a cache of the Milk of Magnesia pills, wait, more than one area, a hoard on either end of the couch, multiple doses of sticky, decomposing little white pills. Again, she interrogated us. Again, I was totally surprised, astonished beyond belief. Since there was obviously more than one perpetrator, my mother did not pursue the subject. She was not a big fan of medicating anyway, was only doing so because it was the advice of the time, and was most likely glad of an excuse to stop the pills. I can't recall if I was more shocked because the other 2 had been so defiant as to break the rules, or if I felt left out because doing so had never even crossed my mind. I guess that proves I lacked imagination-- a whole lifetime of following the rules and what has it gotten me but a bitter pill to swallow.