It was a sunny but cool autumn day in 1775, yet young Madeleine* was sweating profusely and cussing quite colorfully at young Eugene* – her husband. “Bloody zut . . . I can’t take this any longer! When is it finally coming out?” she hissed through gritted teeth.
Yes, young Madeleine was giving birth, and it seemed like a most unpleasant affair. But only at the beginning because once the child was born, he was destined to become the star in her sky. Later, she would gaze at him tenderly as his dashing good looks would bring tears to her eyes . . . like that of all the women blessed enough to cross his path.
But I digress.
Where was I? Ah, yes. The baby was born after more hissing and cussing from Madeleine and encouragement from Eugene and the midwife. Rosy, chubby, and closely resembling the famous angels that Raphael painted for the Sistine Madonna, there was something very strange about this gorgeous little creature.
He arrived in the world without crying. But his heartbeat – or at least what seemed like a heartbeat – was very strange. The midwife pressed her ear to the dear little one’s chest and with a concerned look passed the baby to his father, who did the same. With the same worried looks on their faces, they delicately gave the child to his mother, who stared at the other two with tears in her eyes.
Was witchcraft involved or had the child been blessed?
Afraid the baby would be put on trial and burned as a the devil’s spawn – which would have been a shame considering his superior intelligence was rivaled only two centuries later by that of Albert Einstein and Sharon Stone – the three of them swore an oath never to breathe a word of this: the baby was alive and well, but his heart was not beating…it was ticking!
And did I mention that he was born wearing black cap-toe Oxfords?
Little What Makes Me Tick* had developed into a true multicultural timepiece and shoe snob with a habit of taking copious notes on the objects of his passion.
Fast forward 240 years to the present day and fortuitously, his scribblings made with a high-quality quill and handmade ink – which quite precisely foretold much of the goings-on of the year 2000 and beyond – remained untouched until recently when Elizabeth was digging around near Geneva for some buried treasure a watch company executive explained was left over from the days of the Renaissance. Having hit paydirt, she returned triumphantly to the Quill & Pad offices with a chest full of written treasure ready to publish for the discerning reader.
We are certain that What Makes Me Tick’s compositions will amaze, delight, entertain, and awe you. But remember: this is what makes him tick; it may not make you tick. But give it a read anyway. It just might make you tick after all.
For interesting watch photos and occasional shoe porn, check out his Facebook account at https://www.facebook.com/WhatMakesMeTick.
For a crazy mix of watches and shoes, have a look at his Instagram @whatmakesmetick.
*Names changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty).
To read What Makes Me Tick’s debut article for Quill & Pad, please click Vintage Watch Snobbery Or How I Met Your Mother.
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I have knelt at his well-shod feet for a shoe photo.