I once thought I was a winner. When I was four years old I had to stay over night in the hospital after having my tonsils taken out. Alone and scared in the hospital room that night I started to cry. A nurse working the graveyard shift heard me crying and came in to comfort me.
"There, there." The nurse cooed. "If I take you to see Winnie the Pooh will you stop crying?"
I had recently seen a live production of Winnie the Pooh and got exited at the prospect of meeting Pooh himself. I knew he existed, I had seen him with my own eyes just a few weeks ago. "Winnie the Pooh is here? Really?" I stuttered in amazement.
"Promise to stop crying and I'll take you to see him." The nurse replied.
"OK." I said with glee.
The nurse scooped me up and carried me off through long passages and several doorways. I was excited but the trip seemed to be taking forever. On and on the nurse walked. I was growing tired and finally I must have nodded off.
I awoke in the nurse's arms. She was shaking me gently and pointing to a small sticker of Winnie the Pooh on someone's desk lamp. "There's Winnie the Pooh. Now, go back to sleep." Whispered the nurse.
I wanted to argue but sleep got the better of me and I drifted off again.
I awoke the next day. My mother was sitting by the bed and they gave me ice cream.
You don't always get what you expect but if you're lucky you'll get ice cream.
Do you love being a winner? Do you want to love me?