How I find myself in these dangerous situations I have not a clue. But what I DO know is.. if there’s some serious threat to my bodily person, thus increasing the likelihood of.. permanent death and subsequent cancellation of my social media accounts, I’m not just going to stand here. Well I might for a second so I can finish shoving the last morsel of Shortbread Pecan Sandy in my mouth. But THEN.. hmpf. I’m going to do SOMETHING to this short, bespectacled old lady who is REALLY a pathetic alien body snatcher pit bull, sent here to use whatever means possible to infiltrate and take over Happy Daze Assisted Living so that no one shall EVER be able to do anything but play BRIDGE again.
“What are you doing on the floor? Get off of there. You’re making a SPECTACLE of yourself. I don’t WANT your cell phone. I want SILENCE!”
I’m DOING what they tell us to on TV ma’am. You know— the part where they say not to panic when a wild animal starts snorting and takes a flying leap at your tasty chewy toy FACE. You’re supposed to crouch down and cover your soft squishy bits with your arms. Unfortunately, I have way more squish parts, then limbs, so THAT’S a problem. Then there’s the whole, HOWS this gonna LOOK to my MIL Ru and her five friends from club dementia, who are at the moment milling around over by the piano watching me beg for my paltry LIFE to be spared and motioning for me to.. WHAT? Smack her? Seriously? Ohhhhh. C-r-a-c-k-e-r-s. Yeah. I thought so. Be right THERE guys.
If we can back up a sec.. all this chicanery started by a great idea (and you KNEW it was coming) of MINE, that AlienDude and Smart Alec would agree to entertain grandma (and troops) on the piano in exchange for.. undisclosed terms and MAYBE a recording contract with Russell Simmons. I’m scratching my head at that last part, not having the SLIGHTEST idea who put THAT into their heads.. Ru. Because the boys aren’t technically Hip-Hop.. they’re closer to like Hop on POP. But if it get’s my people (and there she goes again with the MY.. Troubling) off ROAM for fifteen minutes; away from the ever-popular game still in progress of: WAS THAT CRACK IN THE WALL THERE YESTERDAY? Well then we’re sooo doing it.
First, I was going to draw straws to see who was coming downstairs for the CONCERT. Had to ditch THAT because, I couldn’t seem to convince a single PERSON that, we weren’t sitting down for MILKSHAKES again. This made it necessary to turn to the old perennial favorite Rock, Paper, Scissors which also BLEW, due to Ru doing OTHER things with her fingers that weren’t necessarily appropriate for the game and then Lena started following her and we were ALL doing choice movements with our bird fingers that would determine.. NOTHING. That’s when I chose favoritism as a way to make the selection easier. Ginny, Selma, Marion and.. hmmmm. Put your HAND down Dorothy. I’m not calling you unless you’re sitting (slumping) nicely in your seat. Stanley.. outta here. FALL IN.. soldiers. Yes. I realize that’s a large departure from the typical fall “ON”, that we’ve all come to know and love, right? Woo Hoo get stoked it’s the elevator ride DOWN you guys.
NERVOUS. Yes I was. As any mother WOULD be, before her children performed in front of such SPECIAL guests. Speaking of which.. if you will allow me to go off on a slightly different tangent.
I’m getting a little PEEVED at the people who live on the unassisted living floors copping major tude the minute WE, the SPECIAL people, walk into the room. Oh don’t think I don’t notice the stares and the whispers,
“Psssst. Isn’t that Ru’s DIL? Why.. I’LL BE. Look at the AWESOME. Who’s the man she’s clinging to for dear life? Can you see this Vera? (pointing) Disgusting. Five dollars say’s she’s taking care of HIM now too. And she can’t even take care of herself. Look at those LAST years denim skinny jeans she put with that.. Oh. Get. Out. A smock shirt. Too many breakfasts. Bwahahaha.”
We HEAR you make those cracks at us and it’s rude. We HAVE feelings. We have dementia. And WE HAVE CLASS. Beeotches.
I went to give my boys a little pep talk to calm THEIR nerves before they started their first piece as the audience was finding their seats.. and then walking back towards the elevator to push the buttons.
“Gentelmen.. I want to make sure we’re ALL on the same page. NOT the page where you think this is your chance to experiment playing with your.. FEET. And I swear to you— if you touch each other as to produce ANY harm or screams of pain and grandma SEE’S you.. then I’m reneging on my last offer. Got it?”
Scanning the small little group, I notice a look of anticipation and excitement that I hadn’t seen in a while.. followed by wild applause about ten seconds in, as Aliendude and Smart Alec got lost.. and everyone thought it was over and got up to leave.. because I did. Sorry. Still going?
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I catch her. Pat. Like Pat the BUNNY. Only not.
“Stop the noise. We’re trying to play BRIDGE.”
Imagine the above statement done with the voice of someone who had a few too many.. CIGARS. Scary.
My plan is to just try and calm everyone down. Put a nice little spin on the situation, throw in a compliment or two about her nice (facial) hair and shut her up. So we can all get back to the important things. Like.. The Theme from SNOOPY in F flat.
“Pat, Vera.. members of the jury. These people NEED this piano. They seldom get out and it means so much to them if they could JUST hear one more song. If all goes well.. it should only take like three minutes. Puh-leeeeeeze. They LOVE the children.”
“No. We’re NOT going to allow it (group nods in agreement). We don’t care HOW long it takes or HOW MUCH you pay us off in bribe money.”
Then as she’s trying to pull her little Rolly Polly Olly body to her feet, with Mr. simpering portly old guy to “pit bull alien queen’s” right.. doing HIS part by egging her on. I decide THIS would be the time to deliver my mature statement:
YOU there. Yeah You. Little foppish kiss up boytoy. I promise you THIS. Your little PLAN will be foiled. Nooooo.. not by ME (throws head back.. and gets whiplash) Bah ha ha ha.. By H-E-R (waving to MIL Ru).
Oh wait. Then it get’s really good, because this is the part that I tuck my TAIL between my legs and go running back to Ru, screaming, what may seem to YOU to be a teensy lie.. but to me it maybe could NEVER EVER happen—
AAACKKKK.. Def Jam recordings is holding on line one. Boyssssssss…..
I’m afraid of those belligerent old people. There. I’ve said it.
The MINUTE my back was turned and I was headed out the door, Granny Marnie didn’t skip a beat. I heard her blurt out to one of her girlfriends, “THERE goes my granddaughter.. she comes to visit every day. Yes. It is very sweet. But.. heh heh it’s NOT like she’s got anything BETTER to do.”
It was then that I smacked my head into an oncoming.. wall.
Posted 14 years, 7 months ago at 8:34 pm. Add a comment
Picture THIS if you will. I’m on my hands and knees UNDER my MIL Ru’s bed, which I liken to the experience of exploring the depths of the murky ocean bottom. It’s really frightening and totally exhilarating in a.. TITANIC sort of way. You crawl along in the dark, not really able to see anything and all over the sudden you happen upon a bright, shiny treasure. Are you kidding? Could this be? Why yes. Yes it is. It’s Ru’s cocktail ring. The PRICELESS, fake, tin, clip-on hoop EARING I bought at Loehmmans for like $8.50, that Ru insists on wearing (as a purity ring) for sentimental value.
Seriously, there’s like ZERO sentiment attached to the giving of this accessories. It was an impulse buy and the sales girl said it was the last one. That’s all it takes. What’s this you say? Last one? Well I certainly can’t let THIS slip into the hands of the lady breathing down the back of my neck awaiting my reply.. now can I? Uh uh uh. Not so fast girlfriend. My MIL has DEMENTIA and she will be traumatized if she doesn’t have a pair of.. sassy clip-ons to go with THESE (holding up flannel lip pajamas). Step away from the earrings. And this adorable bracelet that goes with them.. I’ll take it too.
“Here Ru.. look what I found! Oh my LAWD.. you’re so not going to believe it. Here. (chucking precious “ring” out from underneath the bed and hearing it smack the wall). Don’t worry.. it’s insured.”
I can clearly see Ru’s Uggs scurry across the room.. barely missing smacking into her Lazy boy chair base by a half an inch, before coming to an abrupt halt. And on.. three, two, one..
“WHAT am I looking for again?”
Your RING. You know the ring that I gave you.. because I love you, care about you and will always be there for you? Look down Ru. Do you see it?
“NO. There’s no ring. Only my missing cheap earring you bought me.”
-A
Posted 14 years, 8 months ago at 7:34 pm. 5 comments
I was shocked, SHOCKED I tell you, to discover that over the weekend my MIL Ru had a life changing experience and I was like the thirteenth person to find out about it. Thank GAWD for Selma and the rest of the “bridal party” on ROAM who greeted me at the door with, “Have you met Ru’s new husband.. or weren’t you invited?” because I would’ve positively pee’d my pants (thus joining the masses) had the news come from the brides mouth herself. This is where I send a big wave and a high five to the staff at Happy Daze Assisted, for not only honoring our PACT.. but going that EXTRA step in customer satisfaction, that so few dementia floors are willing to take these days. And to think, this loving relationship between Ru and.. ummm.. man, was borne out of my penned instructions on a hot pink sticky note placed strategically in Ru’s care plan all covered with serious swirly heartage and kisses, to garner the attention it demanded due to it’s URGENT nature.
To whom it may concern:
The MINUTE a new man shows up, HE MUST immediately be escorted down the hall with CARE to his room, under super heavy maxi protection. He then shall be placed into his CLOSET, where he will be held for his own safety, for a short 24-hour period with NO FEMALE VISITORS other then Ru. There will be NO dining room or STRETCHING class where there CAN and HAVE been instances of leg touching and arm bumping that can lead to unauthorized courtships.. UNTIL Ru, has had significant time to be introduced (ten to twenty times) and signed off on her First Right of Refusal sheet. Then and only THEN will it be considered open hunting season for Marion, Blanche and Jojo and they can freely resume combative territorial behaviors and pathetic courtship jockeying. Thanks so much. Love you guys (insert heart and kiss) Me.
Now that we all know how desperate I’ve become to fix up Ru with a man, in a selfishly motivated plan to lighten my own work load by improving HER quality of life. GA. Try to understand that times have been tough around ROAM. We’re talking a dry spell of Sahara desert proportions and Ru’s even beginning to SEE men that aren’t even there. She’ll be sitting at lunch and see a coat hanging over a chair and next thing you know she’s shrieking, “TAKE your hands off him Blanche.. it’s mine. Go buy your own.” And don’t think I haven’t considered THAT option as well.
Maybe we might all agree that perhaps I went a tad too far grabbing one of our male staffers by the collar and threatening him with, “YOU FIND SOMEONE AND MAKE IT STICK OR YOU’RE A DEAD MAN”. But did I know that soon, through some odd twist of fate (even odder then the twisted fate I’m presently enjoying) a MAN should happen along and find himself on this dementia floor (by mistake or on purpose.. who really cares) and become..
“DADDY? Is that YOU?”
Ru’s staring at me positively HORRIFIED, while her groom has this look on his face like, WHACKO’S live here too? Good to know. Then as calmly as possible Ru begins the introductions. While I’m going to start flipping out any second about not getting pictures you guys.. and oh.. what about not getting a chance to GIVE HER AWAY. CRIPES! Have I not waited like FOREVER to do a give away?
“Uhhhhhhh. I want you to meet my DIL.”
ME: Hi. (looking at MIL) What’s his name Ru?
“Well.. lets see. I know it’s something that rhymes with Frank.”
Whap. Whap. Thunk. We interrupt your normally scheduled reading material to bring you THIS. My theatrical display of head bashing into the walls of my MIL Ru’s now almost completely EMPTY closet.. to communicate a la PSYCHO style, my immense displeasure with her making— as she so eloquently puts it an “executive” decision. WHOA. You did WHAT? Because, heh (nervous laugh) I don’t REMEMBER EVER giving the thumbs UP for any MAKING of decisions Ru. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I even believe that any DECISIONS on this dementia floor are entirely frowned upon and punishable by TUNA sandwich’s at every lunch, for a MONTH should you chose to exercise.. something. If you’re going to start implementing a new “share wear” program, I would THINK you’d want to run it by me first.. so I could have first dibs.
It was here, during the crescendo of my rant, that I happened to glance up at my MIL and sometimes girlfriend from down the hall SELMA— who had heard the commotion and decided that, HALLES BELLS.. this sure beats anything she could EVER do in that slacker HAPPY HANDS class and why not pop on in.. applauding wildly at my pathetic display. So I’m like Ru, LET me get this straight. You loaned all your clothes to your friends in exchange for this ONE (holding up yellowing strappy frock) lovely size two nightie? That will m-a-y-b-e on a GOOD DAY partially cover ¼ of your right BADONKADONK CHEEK?
“Yeah. I did. Not bad huh? And the best part is.. it’s ULTRA FLAME RETARDANT.”
OOOOOOH. AHHHHHH. Well what are you waiting for. Put it on and I’ll take you out.. POLE DANCING.
Then eerily.. as if we were on the same PLANET, Ru and I had the exact identical THOUGHT— at the same TIME. I know. Scary, right? Those pants Selma was wearing.. the low on the hip, Juicy track pants. They looked familiar. Ru’s eyes were positively transfixed on them, as were mine. But just as I was going to yell out “JINX” because the words, “WHERE did you get THOSE pants” emerged from both our lips in unison—Ru goes and veers off (to Mars) with, “because they are way cute and I want to get some.” Yo! Those are YOUR pants Ru. Selma.. where did you get them? They’re Ru’s.. and she wants them back.
“Do we know that they’ll FIT.. maybe I should try them on first before we buy them?”
Those words from a woman who’s about to prance down the halls in a ten sizes too small negligee paired with dirty KED sneakers, with her heels hanging off the back. Due to the fact that the previous owner had been one of the seven DWARFS or maybe Marion.. it’s all the same. Ru.. they’re YOUR PANTS. Don’t you.. REMEMBER? GASP. NO NO NO.. I take it back. I didn’t say that. Ha. (slapping forehead) Everyone KNOWS you don’t ask your senior with cognitive issues if they.. pfffft.. REMEMBER. “Might they look like something you had hanging in your closet, next to the matching HOODIE that you wear all the time? Recall-ith that?”
I’m thinking this might be a good time to turn up the heat a notch. Kind of throw my weight around; show um who knows.. nothing. I lean down and peer directly into Selma’s beady red eyes.. which I suspect is similar to establishing eye contact with a COBRA and put on my most professional tone. An eclectic mix of slow southern drawl and genteel soothing cooing GUARENTEED my friends, to yield me the answer that I’m looking for. “For the last time SELMA.. and I’m going to ask you nicely and then.. you know, I’m gonna get tough. Ummm.. and rip off that glitter MACARONI necklace you hold so dear. Where did you get those PANTS.. Y’all?
“You wouldn’t DARRRRRE.”
“Oh wouldn’t I. Who do you think was responsible for that little PRUNE JUICE mishap all over Lucy’s lap when she made a move on Ru’s.. Apple Brown Betty? Did you think it was an.. ACCIDENT?”
“I THINK you’re a klutz.”
Selma starts doing her classic routine all, I FORGET where I got these pants.. yada yada yada. And so we’re clear, it was all SUCH a crock. She knows, that I KNOW, that she knows.. but she’s going to do the dementia thing and wiggle her way out with, “MY MOTHER got them for me”. You watch.. I KNOW these people well.
“My MOTHER got them for me.”
Did she now? And WHERE might your mother have found such adorable velour JUICY couture track pants?
“Kroger foods.”
I had a plan. Taking Ru by the neck the hand, we began our search door to door for men and women wearing Ru’s sportswear. Like Walter over there.. by the fish tank. Hey Walt nice ass squeezed into Ru’s PLEATHER pants dude. Strip poker. FIVE minutes (holding up hand to show five in case I need to look like a bigger idiot). Dining room— spread the word. Quick. AAAACK. WALKER Walter. Eleven o’clock. Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.
My thinking was since we often enjoyed the game up here on ROAM.. not a soul would think that anything out of the ordinary was happening thus grow suspicious. And so they came.. wearing Ru’s Ralph polo’s mixed with her poly capri’s. Some even putting that nice red wool coat she always loses with NOTHING but a strand of plastic pearls.. in what I think was a pathetic bid to become.. INNOVATIVE. Yet as it turned out I hadn’t thought out ALL possible scenarios. It was the perfect plan up until the point that Ru.. lost her slip.
I’ve made the executive decision that the next time I get granny Marnie and my MIL Ru together for lunch.. I’m selling tickets. Probably through ticket master, because I wouldn’t be able to handle the crush of sales by all the throngs who want to witness first hand Marnie trying to explain to Ru for OVER 15 minutes.. the hideous mistake she’s making by ordering a burger at Killjoy Senior Living, medium rare. If you want the burger to turn out medium rare you have to order it RARE Ru. AND even though I know you have this thing called dementia.. I’m going to take the time to go into great depth as to why you must order the drated burger RARE. I’m going to blather on and on explaining that HERE, 78.9% of the time, the CHEFS (for lack of a better word) will overcook the top quality Chuck Wagon you’ll soon be served and if you want it to turn out WELL.. you have to order it RARE.
“But I thought I wanted it medium.. not well.”
You do Ru— but what you really WANT right now.. is to run. Quick! As fast and as far as your little legs will take you without bashing into anything. I was beginning to wonder how Marnie was missing the fact that Ru’s eyes were beginning to roll back in her head. She’s quoting statistics; she’s reviewing percentages— should we place BETS? Geeezuz. Then Ru decides to throw Marnie a curve ball. What happens should the chef decide that he was gonna bring it today? THIS could be that TIME, that the burger when ordered rare upon your recommendation.. will have a succulent sushi like texture. What sayeth you oh illustrious electric scooter girl?
“It won’t. I just know it. Waiter! She’ll have the sweet potato fries too.. raw.”
Then.. they had a few drinks.
Posted 14 years, 8 months ago at 8:30 pm. 5 comments
I showed this to my MIL Ru, thinking (or not) that she would totally get a feeling of enchantment and wonder out of the shot. What do you know? She did. Ru held it up really close to her face, studying it from every imaginable angle before exclaiming.. with what I swear were tears glistening in her eyes, “There’s something wrong with my glasses. Do you see a big giant splotch of blur in the middle of the bush?”
YES. Exactly what I was going for. Because THAT fuzzy spot Ru is NOT your macular degeneration.. it’s a FAIRY. Can’t you seeeeee the fairy? She’s manifesting herself in the middle of this blooming Magnolia, for only the pure of heart to recognize her true identity.
Where? I don’t see a fairy.
(pause)
“You KNOW we have people HERE that can H-E-L-P you.”
Posted 14 years, 8 months ago at 9:07 am. 6 comments
Ready? Get your number two pencils out because.. it’s pop quiz time. What’s the number ONE rule that you must always adhere to when speaking with family members dabbling in dementia? No. BESIDES the mentioning e-v-e-r.. of these VERBOTTEN words “new single (old) man just moved in” in the very same sentence as “my condolences that your best friend Blanche snagged him when you went to wipe creamed corn off your pant leg”. Although I would consider this a correct answer.. it’s NOT the one I’m ACTUALLY looking for.
What I want to hear you shout out is.. NEVER tell YOUR senior, who.. for all intensive purposes we’ll name Ru (my MIL). Don’t tell her or any of her hangers on, in ADVANCE (meaning anything over the five minute mark), that really SOON she (they) will be attending an event that will be such a thrill and so unbelievably amazing and yes.. even mind blowing (which just so you know— is an expression one should stay away from altogether in this instance) that she’ll be freaking O.U.T when she discovers what it is.
Then once you get Ru and the whole dementia floor jazzed up about the impending outing.. it immediately becomes, “O.K. ladies, gentlemen AND new (old) guy hooking up with Blanche—I know it will be difficult, but I want you to FORGET we ever told you guys this little plan of ours. Because the bus ride that we’ve been promoting all morning LONG.. is actually.. not for another THREE hours. AND.. now don’t take this personally, but it gets positively annoying when you folks ask us staff every six seconds the big looming question—WHEN DID YOU SAY THE BUS RIDE ISSSSSSSSS? So being now that we’re really sorry to have blabbed, we’d like to ask for your cooperation in leaving us alone and quit that confounded hanging around the faux bookcase keypad locked door.. (in case any of you have the bright idea to escape early) and find something to amuse yourselves with while you wait for.. ETERNITY. With your coats already on, set to go. Absolutely NOWHERE. Sound like a plan? Meh.
Not more then three seconds after I swing the door leading to the ROAM (dementia floor) open and maybe two seconds after nearly smacking that sucker in the face of Helen. Who, in case you care.. is known far and wide for her propensity to seek freedom through any means possible. Including thrusting her entire BODY through an inch wide crack under my armpit, while trying in vain to escape using her super powers set to STEALTH mode.
As I delicately grab Helen by the shoulder pad and turn her around in the opposite direction.. who THEN do I come face to face with? But only a mob of irate “customers” lead by none other then Ru and her gal pal Mildred.
“You know how long we’ve been waiting for our flight? Do you? Huh? Huh?”
RU: I do.
MILDRED: Good for you. How long?
RU: At least a few days.
MILDRED: A few DAYS. And in that time.. has anyone come out and offered us an upgrade? Maybe a room for the night? No sir.. they HAVE NOT.
“Ummmm.. Mildred” comes my fake soothing voice. I’d be glad to COMP you with a few of these (digs hands into Ru’s coat pockets) decadent green foil mint pattie candies. Think of it as a gift for your patience (sticks finger down throat and makes gagging sounds) and understanding (more gagging).. because you TRULY are one of our valued customers here and we want you to be happy.
“What about ME? You want me to be happy, too?”
Nice.
“Yes Helen. Mildred, will you give some of her compensation package.”
“I most certainly will NOT.”
Ughhhh. Talk about anxiety. My biggest outside voice WELL DONE, to Happy Daze Assisted Living for making SUCH a brouhaha over something like a bus ride down the I-5 corridor and then having the gall to announce it as early as second breakfast time. Which truth be told, is not as bad as.. say, announcing it at FIRST breakfast time at the 3:00 am hour. Still, nobody likes to sit around an airport for hours.. unmedicated. Now do they? And I totally GET Mildred’s agitation and her desire to check her WATCH after each exhalation and bellow.. ARE WE BOARDING YET? GAWD ALL MIGHTY.. I have to get back to work, fools.
But people.. after a half an hour of this (and the remainder of Ru’s mints plus one of my old MAC lipsticks and an old ratty Pokemon card of the kids) I couldn’t take it anymore. I took Mildred’s hands all semi-comfortingly; being sure not to touch the palm area that had chocolate melted all over. And said in my most wizened voice,
“Mildred dear— try to relax and BE in the moment.”
To which she sweetly responded, “Which moment should I BE in? And how the HALLE do you expect me to GET there.. when the FLIGHT is delayed?”
Full bar service for the duration of this journey.
Just so we’re clear.. I’d like to go on record as saying, it’s not a particularly good idea to get into HEATED ARGUMENTS with your MIL. Never mind that she has dementia and may lash out with some, oh I don’t know.. QUASI-innocent comment about your penchant for blaming others for your own mistakes. Mistakes.. that if MY memory serves me (because.. heh.. someones has to) were so NOT my fault. I ACCIDENTALLY let Blanche out of the faux bookcase door because she SAID she was going to MISS her plane.
W-h-a-t you guys? She HAD her suitcase with her.. she KNEW she was flying TWA.. anddddd she flashed something that I THOUGHT was a passport. If she had dementia would she HAVE a passport? Granted it was a passport that played music.. and shouted out.. YOU SURE ARE LOOKING FINE FOR 89. Yeah. So it was a very easy mistake to make.
It wasn’t as if I needed to assess blame for the jumbo GOUGE in Ru’s newly polished (with top coat) nail that took me twenty minutes to polish. I’m sorry— Yuh huh. She ASKED for the “French maid” look and I’d get the white tip painted on, then she’d forget and start dinking around with the wet sucker with her thumb.. like, Are THESE real (tap tap) or are they those press on phonies? (smwishhh) Oh wait. Look. I now have Wite-Out correction fluid all over my entire hand. Hmmmm.. Maybe you should dip this cotton ball (holding out for me) into the toxic solution that I’m getting HIGH on and do it in a way that these fuzzy balls, will shed all over my OTHER freshly painted digits.. ONE. MORE. TIME.
To be clear, really what I was doing— was more along the lines of stating a simple fact to Ru. Just sort of casually.. as I might do if I were to notice some.. OHHH. Let’s use, freshly sprouted chin hair growth as an example.
“Hey Ru, looks like I need to pluck your chin again. I’ll do it tomorrow when I have three hours. Bring a book.”
Harmless right? THIS time however, big old freakin ruckus because GAWD FORBID I should challenge the FACT that she was incapable of “dinging” her nails because.. WHY? Get this— because the KLEENEX was ALREADY THERE placed inside the nostril when she SAT down to at the table. I must’ve been distracted AGAIN by my phone.. diddling around with my PECKER and WHOA.. Just a sweet minute there sista. Don’t I dare PATRONIZE her by saying I wasn’t playing with my PECKER.. account (twitter).. because she KNOWS what it’s called and she has a witness that will testify she done no wrong. Oh really? Like..
“Selma.”
Bwahahahaha. Selma?
Your honor.. and members of the (sniff.. cough it up) JURY. I’m SURE I would’ve noticed a large billowing sheet of tissue flapping wantonly from the nose of my MIL, whether I was tweeting or NOT. I don’t think it’s fair that you guys continue to bring up my past OVERSIGHTS as a means to make me feel more culpable then I already feel. THIS is a travesty of the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor justice system and your PENAL system sucks.
Yes. Brav- to the -O. Dare I say BRILLIANTLY delivered. I could’ve gone into law doing case after case against people with cognitive impairment and made MILLIONS. How can you not love how I made my point so clearly as to be RIGHT at all costs. I win.
“What did she say is wrong with her penals? You know—come to think of it. I knew a guy once who had some problems and..”
I stand guilty as charged Ru.
“Your H-O-N-O-R.”
Yes. That. Urrr.. Your major ROYAL.. Honorness-ness.
My dearest Sandwich Generation, understand RIGHT NOW.. it will no longer matter what your perception of reality is. THAT is secondary. In fact.. anything having to do with you is secondary. Your senior family from this day forth will be correct no matter what they say and think plus, YOU’RE GONNA LIKE IT. This of course will go against all your sensibilities, rigidity and whatever other sticks you have lurking in unmentionable places. Breaking down boundaries BAY-BEEEE.. it’s what I do.
The fact is.. all close emotional sensitivities and familial roles must be thrust aside and the true professional that you are must take center stage when engaged in such unexpected tug-o-wars. Oh yes.. indeed it will happen. No matter HOW well prepared you think you are, it’s inevitable that the buttons will be pushed. Put the ego away and learn to stay focused on the goal of keeping your elder happy with as little distress to their person as possible. And remember.. this is THEIR stage and you’re but a bit player on it.
Yes. This is exactly what it looks like. A simple picture, gone terribly astray. Was I scared? HALLE YEAH I WAS. I’m like, Ru.. if you throw that bowling pin at me— like you’re telling me you’re about to do and I die.. you’re driving the kids home. And.. that’s not all. I promise you this.. YOU will NEVER remember where we parked the car. Then what are you going to do? Huh?
Good on me because THAT piece of pointless wisdom gave her cause to think.. for all of 3/10 of a second. Then out of my sweet MIL’s mouth comes the MOST sinister laugh you guys. Oh I still shudder in fear. Followed by the plans of a thinly veiled plot beginning to hatch..
“THEN we’ll just have to HITCH a ride home. So R-U-N!”
Posted 14 years, 8 months ago at 6:09 pm. 4 comments
Dear Diary,
