“I said I don’t want it.”

Ever need to say that to a doctor who is trying to sell you a strange medicine that is supposed to let you grow one foot eleven inches in one month and costs one dollar per pellet (whew)?

My mom almost said that, except she’s too nice to do that.

Let me tell you all about it.

It is eleven in the morning. I am looking for a shop that sells fried chicken with my mom. We walk by a shop that looks like some tai-chi place. Then we walk past it again. I walk by. My mom gets stopped by the lady inside it.

“Do you love your son?” The lady asks my mom. She straightens her white coat (the doctor kind) and looks closely at my mom for expression giveaways.

My mom looks at me, then turns back and looks at the lady. “Yes.”

The lady smiles and grabs a strange looking bottle and turns to my mom.

“Then you need this.” A smile flashes. Eyebrows go up on her face. She is expecting applause.

I showed no sympathy, but my mom does. “Great! What does this do?” She controls her expression on her face very carefully. I know how to do that, too, sometimes.

“Well, this special medicine is very important for kids just his age. See his face? It’s yellow and not bright.”

My mom shoots some words back, but she does it as kindly as possible. “I am already feeding him calcium.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “And, aha! There’s your problem! Kids this age shouldn’t be eating extra supplements of calcium.”

My mom fidgeted. True or not, my mom didn’t like to argue with doctors, which supposedly know a lot about what they talk.

“Well, I only fed him calcium several years ago.”

The doctor pulls the subject back from getting away and drifting off. “Bother that. Anyway’s, this special medicine of mine lets your child grow one foot eleven inches in one month! Yep, one month!”

My mom nods, but I know she is not liking it. I try to help her by saying, “Don’t we have to go to exercise class now?” Perfectly true. But of course, I had quite fortunately omitted the fact that the schedule could change.

The doctor read my mind.

“You can always reschedule, because this eye-boggling medicine of mine is very special! Only one dollar per pellet. One pellet per day.”

My mom knows that is a lot of money for one pellet. “That is a lot for one pellet!”

The doctor rejects that. “That is not a lot! That is very cheap, in fact. Thirty dollars at the minimum for one bottle. Thirty pellets per bottle. I’m not going any lower.”

Like we even want to buy your stuff. But my mom just plays along like this for a while. Finally she can’t take it.

“We have to go.”

“First buy the medicine. It’s very good!”

“My husband,” My mom says, “will not agree.”

“He will. Just buy it.”

My mom pushes back her comment. “He will not.”

The doctor looks kind of pleading now.

“At least give me your phone number.” Then seeing the I-don’t-want-you-calling stare on my mom’s face, she said, “I won’t call.”

So my mom gives her our phone number in hopes that she will leave us alone.

We leave.

In the car, my mom tells me that she never wanted to buy the stuff in the first place. I tell her I knew that.

But that doctor is still not to be trusted.

Why? Introducing scene two.

It’s night. I’m already asleep. The telephone rings. My mom picks it up, and discovers that voice of the doctor on the other end.

“Have you decided yet? Has your husband agreed?”

And she said that she wouldn’t call.

Dishonesty.