(We are the same twins from this story. We are about 4 years old, and our mum has taken us to the doctors.)

Me: “It’s not needles is it, mum?”

Mum: “No, it’s not needles.”

Brother: “Are you sure, mum? Are you sure it’s not needles?”

Mum: “Don’t worry, it’s definitely not needles.”

(We get to the doctors and I go in first with my mum. My brother stays in the waiting room playing with a few toys. I am sat on the chair and the doctor removes from a drawer, a large shiny syringe. Without a moment’s hesitation, I bolt towards the door. I throw it open and make it to the waiting room before my mum manages to grab me. Knowing I am surely doomed, I see my pale-faced brother staring at me as I am dragged back into the doctors office.)

Me: *shouting* “Run! It’s NEEDLES!”

(My brother was half-way home before my mum was able to catch up to him!)

(Just as we’re leaving the pediatrician’s, my mother and I hear a thud behind us. We turn around and see my 3-year-old little brother has tripped and is on the ground.)

Mother: “Oh, no.”

(Accidents happen a lot with him, so we’re not particularly surprised, just worried.)

Me: “[Little brother], need any help?”

(Without saying a word, he stands up. He walks a few steps before stopping and rolling up one pants leg. Then he leans over, almost falling down, and kisses his knee.)

Little Brother: “No.”

(He walks away playing with his toy phone.)