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Ringing in the EARS

My MIL Ru and her found RINGDear Diary,

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 7 years, 3 months ago at 7:34 pm.

5 comments

Man Hunt

Wishes DO come true.Dear Diary,

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.”

“Bill.”

You guys register anywhere?

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Posted 7 years, 3 months ago at 8:23 pm.

1 comment

Stripped.. BARE

My MIL Ru.. finds her missing clothes.Dear Diary,

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.

Game. Over.

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Posted 7 years, 3 months ago at 8:37 pm.

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The RAW Untold Story

Lunch with my girls.. Marnie and Ru

Dear Diary,

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.”

I want it WHAT?

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.”

The best lunch.. EVAH

Then.. they had a few drinks.

Posted 7 years, 4 months ago at 8:30 pm.

5 comments

Picture of the DAY: Fairyland

Tinkerbell

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 7 years, 4 months ago at 9:07 am.

6 comments

Flunk YOU.

My MIL Ru waiting for her.. FLIGHTDear Diary,

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.

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Posted 7 years, 4 months ago at 10:29 pm.

1 comment

Heated Argument with Mother-in-Law.. FAIL

Members of the jury.. My MIL Ru and Selma

Dear Diary,

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.

Nailed it.

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Posted 7 years, 4 months ago at 8:05 pm.

1 comment

Picture of the DAY: Pin Head

Ru asking if she should THROW the pin at me.

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 7 years, 4 months ago at 6:09 pm.

4 comments

An INSIDE JOB.

MarnieDear Diary,

I had this thought.. and already after saying that.. I can totally HEAR you all doing the OH NOOOO. NOT THAT.. thing, behind my back. Even if I did hear your warnings.. I would’ve STILL tried to get granny Marnie to enter my car by swinging her butt out and OVER the handlebars of her electric scooter on the count of five.. with the slightest of nudges delivered (with zeal) by me, to create enough force for her to land on the.. ewwww oops.. stick shift. Yes it hurt her a little.. but it didn’t KILL her; so I’m just like, SUCK it up Marnie.. it’s all going to be worth it when you’re shoveling enough samples to provide you two weeks worth of nourishment in that purse of yours compliments of Trader Joes.

Unfortunately Marnie’s minor discomfort briefly overshadowed the field trip adventure for the first 30 minutes (2 hours) because it’s mega hard to focus on bonding time when SOMEONE keeps shrieking, “STOP! Let me out of here! I’ll CRAWL home if I have to” whenever I took the dozen or so speed bumps a l-i-t-t-l-e faster then the posted “suggestion” on the sign. Who goes under thirty anyway? That’s all part of the fun of having a small, tin, no shocks car to tool around in. You get to FEEL the road mannnnn. Ga. I’m rugged.

Once we pulled into our parking place I still had the daunting task of convincing Marnie that most people leave the safety of their CAR when they go shopping. Have it YOUR way. Rest up a bit and shake out your legs before I unfurl your splayed sweaty fingers from this here door handle, so that I may GENTLY move you onto your wheel chair with MORE care then previously administered. K?

Marnie, NOT being one to be duped TWICE (within the hour) starts eyeing me suspiciously. “Maybe YOU should put down your PHONE for five seconds and WATCH this time to see where you’re throwing me.”

Maybe I should..

I was just beginning to doubt if Marnie had guts enough to take another LEAP of faith into my awaiting arms.. when all of a sudden.. MIRACLE of miracles, I hear shouting and see frantic hand signals from the passenger side of my car like she wants to get out. Or I could be wrong. Maybe they weren’t signals at all. Perhaps the more likely explanation might be that Marnie, upon deciding a safer route was to break the window by hammering it with her fists and then climbing out.. was talking to herself while she worked. Not being sure which road she’d take, I at ONCE (after posting my new status update on facebook) threw my coat on the ground to break her fall and then rolled the electric window down so nobody would get hurt on glass fragments should I be right.

“What does that lady have? Quick! Look over there. Yoo hoo! L-A-D-Y! What do you have in your napkin? Chocolate Tiramisu samples?”

Yes! Brilliant. The old.. LURE them out with the choicest free foodstuffs trick. Why didn’t I think of that?

Uh. Uh. Uhhhhh (zipping lip motion). THAT.. was a RHETORICAL question you guys. Don’t all shout at once.

Of course the nice lady looks over our way and holds up her plate towards granny and says something to me in the ballpark of, THIS is so YUM.. you have to get some. And then I translated to Marnie EXACTLTLY what the lady said to me as she crammed every last spongy morsel into her red lipsticked mouth.

“She says you had better hurry up.. cuz she thinks she’s got the last one.”

Five seconds later inside:

MARNIE: May I have one of those lovely pieces of.. WHAT do you say it is? I’ve never tried it before (shoving third slice of WHAT DO YOU SAY IT IS.. in her mouth).

ME: Marnie.. Do you want me to hold your (20th) sample of coffee so you don’t spill it while we shop?

MARNIE: Oh no (I don’t trust you with a ten foot pole) I wouldn’t want you to have more work to do, honey. You just stand way over THERE (pointing across the store) and take care of your shopping.

Then.. splat. Coffee EVERYWHERE.. as some dummy bashes into the back of my Marnie’s wheel chair while t-r-y-i-n-g to reach OVER Marnie carefully to have a EGG WHITE SALAD taste.

Marnie. Oh my gosh! Is it hot? Did it burn you? Are you eating that.. noodle salad?

Ummmm.. Yeah I know. Then as I’m screaming, IT’S DRIPPING on the burrito with Salsa Verde, DO something.. I notice Feta Egg white salad is spewing out of my mouth and onto the top of Marnies Hairpiece, Bertha. NOW we have an elderly woman, sitting in her wheelchair, covered in Colombian dark roast.. with her granddaughter picking egg chunks from her hair.. smooshing burrito sample into her purse and blotting herself with dirty KLEENEX. Nice.

The great thing about Marnie is.. her generosity. Even after alllllll the fiasco, Marnie found it in her heart, to not only FORGIVE me.. but to INSIST that she would like to contribute to my dinner party the next evening by picking up the tab for the basket load of groceries I’m going to purchase. I KNOW. Awesome, right? Except.. as we get up to the check out, I see Marnie pull out her wallet and start counting:

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOURRRRRRR dollars..

and FIVE

SIX..

Well.. this doesn’t look good. DOES IT.. all you people standing behind me in line, giving me the HOW DARE YOU TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THIS POOR WOMAN stabby eyed look. Not that anything else up to this POINT has looked any better. But hmpfff— even I have limits.

Being that she’s now ALL the way up to.. TWELVE and DONE. I realize, I would either have to put everything BACK and go with the HALF a pound of.. organic almonds for dinner or tell Marnie the truth.

“Marnie.. he says it comes to $12 dollars. Think you have it?”

Oh GAWD. I’m so clever (gag gag).

“Amazing. Because THAT’s what I have right here.”

I KNOW. How crazy is that?

I begin to secretly swipe my credit card for $32 through the machine and wink furiously at the check out dude HOPING he doesn’t get the wrong idea.. like all the people WATCHING. Then handing him MARNIES $12 in soiled wet bills and sticking my hand out for him to shove them BACK at me on the way out. GA. All the while, Marnie is positively GIDDY with this look of, I just made a killing off of Trade Joe by paying $12 for a SHEET load of food stuffs and no one has a clue. Fools.

Granny leans towards me and says, BETTER push fast out the door. Before he figures out he added wrong. Heh heh heh. We should come back TOMORROW and try it again.”

Yes. Let’s.

-A

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Posted 7 years, 4 months ago at 9:53 pm.

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