Setting:
A small café in a quiet English village. It’s a chilly afternoon, and Emma and Jake are sipping tea by the window, watching the drizzle outside.
Emma: (stirring her tea) You know, Jake, my neighbour’s grandson had whooping cough last month. Poor little lad. But you’ll never guess what cured him.
Jake: (raising an eyebrow) Oh, here we go. Do tell. Let me guess—modern medicine? Antibiotics? Rest and fluids?
Emma: (smiling proudly) None of that. They tied a dead mouse around his neck!
Jake: (choking on his tea) A what?!
Emma: A dead mouse. Properly wrapped in cloth, of course. It’s an old remedy. My nan used to say it draws the sickness out. Apparently, he got better within a week!
Jake: (trying not to laugh) Emma, you do realise whooping cough usually lasts a few weeks anyway? That poor mouse didn’t “draw” anything except flies!
Emma: Oh, come off it, Jake. You scientists don’t believe in anything you can’t put under a microscope. My nan swore by it—and she lived to ninety-three.
Jake: (grinning) And did she have a dead mouse collection to thank for it?
Emma: Don’t mock! It’s traditional medicine. People have been doing it for centuries. And there’s another one too—if you pass a child with whooping cough under a donkey three times, it’s supposed to heal them.
Jake: (snickering) Sounds like the donkey’s the only one suffering there.
Emma: I’m serious! There’s something powerful about old wisdom. My friend Martha’s mum did the donkey thing when she was little, and she’s never been sickly since.
Jake: Emma, correlation isn’t causation. Maybe she was just healthy to begin with. Besides, if dead mice and donkeys could cure diseases, hospitals would be full of petting zoos instead of doctors.
Emma: (crossing her arms) You’re missing the point. It’s about faith and connection with nature. Not everything can be explained by your test tubes and charts.
Jake: I get that traditions give people comfort. But comfort isn’t the same as cure. Whooping cough is caused by bacteria—Bordetella pertussis—not by some bad energy a donkey can sniff out.
Emma: (shrugging) Still, the boy’s better, isn’t he?
Jake: Or maybe he’d have recovered anyway. That’s the problem with these “proofs.” You remember that time you said lavender oil cured your cold?
Emma: It did!
Jake: No, you recovered naturally. You just smelled nice while doing it.
Emma: (laughing) You’re impossible, Jake. You’d probably demand a scientific study before believing in Santa Claus.
Jake: (grinning) Absolutely. Double-blind reindeer trials and all.
Emma: (smiling, but thoughtful) Still, don’t you think some of these old cures had meaning, even if not medical? They gave people hope—especially when doctors weren’t around.
Jake: Now that I can agree with. Hope can help people cope. But we should be careful not to confuse hope with health. A dead mouse might make someone believe they’re helping—but real medicine does help.
Emma: (sighing) Fine. But if I ever get whooping cough, don’t be surprised if I start looking for a donkey.
Jake: (laughing) As long as you don’t bring a mouse into my house, I’ll support your donkey therapy.
Emma: Deal. But if it works, I’m naming the donkey after you.
Jake: (raising his cup) To modern medicine—and medieval mice.
Emma: (clinking her cup) To both. Just in case.
Science Vs Superstition 
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