The mosquito kissed her thrice. Twice on her left and once on her right. She ended that silly love affair at the playground promptly, and came to Mama crying.

She told Mama she was in pain. Mama kissed her boo boo, tousled her hair, and told her to go on and play.

The day went on and she kept complaining she was in pain. She whined the whole evening and refused to have her dinner.

Before bed time, she sobbed at a corner of the house. When no one paid her attention, her whimpering turned to wailing. She hollered in tears, “The mosquito bite me. It’s painful.”

Hot baths, hugs and kisses from everyone and antiseptic cream didn’t work. “It’s only a mosquito bite,” we said to ourselves. “Our daughter is overreacting.” We took the opportunity to teach her the difference between pain and itch.

The next day, the swelling did not subside. It appeared distended.

She remembered the pain intermittently, and wept intermittently. Finally, in the afternoon, when hot tears rolled down her cheeks again, Mama left the other two at home, called a cab and rushed her to the pediatrician.

“She’s allergic to the mosquito bite,” Dr Chan said.

“I want the biscuits,” she whimpered, pointing to Dr Chan’s cookie jar.

“Here you go. Are you still in pain?”

“No,” she smiled.

Somebody please give Becks an Oscar. I have just birthed a drama queen.