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Sugar Lips

My MIL Ru before her "botox" appointment.

Dear Diary,

I’d like to see you top MY day. There we were.. my MIL Ru and I sitting in the car on our way to the oral surgeons office for our (eyes looking at spot on the ceiling) unscheduled BOTOX session. Oh COME ON you guys! What would’ve you HAD me tell her? Here Ru. Now we’re going to stick you on this really cozy couch that only RESEMBLES a cosmetic surgery lounge but in fact is a place that you’ll have a needle the size of someones something (nothing nothing) injected into your facial.. FACE.

You know darn well that if YOUR MIL had dementia and she had this craggy rotten half a tooth waiting to get extracted— you would SO tell her she was going in to have some work on her lip lines with some dramatic plumping of the Nasolabial fold area, followed by a fair amount of swell.. ummmm enhancement to the right side of her mouth region. Sorry.. there has to be some big pouty lips associated with the procedure or No. Can. Do.

In order to pull this off I’m obligated by chapter three, section five of the full disclosure to “old persons with cognitive impairment who will be pissed if they find out the truth” act, to reveal that the “procedure” might have some slight discomfort and residual numbness and drooling associated with it. But who cares right? Bah.

Ru.. d-u-d-e. EVERYONE slobbers up at your place. Who the HALLE’S gonna notice if you’ve joined right in for the day? I promise.. it will be so worth it (wink).

“But why are you telling me they’re only doing the RIGHT side of my lips?”

Ah yes Ru.. that is the million dollar question isn’t it. Why?



“Because— EVERYONE’S wearing them that way. It’s like a come-hither smirky trout pout thing. Men LOVE it.”

The thing is.. we couldn’t HELP but be put completely at ease, as we walked into the office because A. It was a luxurious office and B. we were encouraged to help ourselves to these yummy peppermint pillow candies sitting on the receptionists counter. UUURKKKK. Wait. A thought doth cometh. Isn’t it kind of o-d-d that a dentist or for that matter a PLASTIC SURGEON would offer sugar laden treats to his victims before he pulls out there TEETH? Except maybe if that’s all part of the BIGGER PLAN. Odd that the dentist would frown on my perfectly sound idea to hide in granny’s bedroom and scream her name and when she shuffled to her room (eventually) I’d jump out of my hiding place causing her to turn around, jumping real high (ankle height) thus smacking her face on my head and OUT would fall the tooth. We’ve done it like a HUNDRED times people.. it’s not THAT big of a deal. But THEN someone (eyes narrowing) might not be able to afford pepp-er-mint pil-lo-ws.

My MIL has a habit of becoming observant (for lack of a better word) at all the wrong times. Like when she senses I’m messing with her mind more then I usually would. Could it be possible that because all the OTHER pathways in her brain have “road closed” signs on them that suddenly the part responsible for smelling.. DECEIT— ramps up a notch? Or perhaps it’s the antiseptic saturated sponge being swabbed around her gum area while her calm and rock like DIL shrieks, “If it looks like she’s in any kind of pain in the slightest.. you have my permission to knock her senseless. Got that.” Yup. That could’ve tipped her off.

“Do you have something to give her?” asks my dear Ru as she gazed compassionately upon her OUTSTANDING shiny example of advocacy, hiding her face in her sweaty hands and rocking back and forth mumbling.. urrrrr. Let’s see if I can even remember what I was blubbering about. Oh yeah.

1. Did you stab her with the thing yet?

2. Is she gushing blood?


Apparently I wasn’t NEEDED in the room for comfort measures and shortly after my outburst was hastily dismissed. WHATEVAH. I’m just going to sit in the fancy shmancy living room (that I paid for) and eat tons of candy— while tweeting all kinds of updates to my dear followers who will totally lend waves of support and prayers for my.. SELF.

Not five minutes had passed.. when the dental hygienist comes marching in to inform me of my patients stats.

“So. Is she.. alivvvvvve? Because she would so kill me if she had to go through all of this for NOTHING.”

Don’t you hate when people in the KNOW, just figure you have some sort of.. intellect? It’s not my fault Ru has all her teeth and we’ve never had to do this before. The girl ushers me back to the exam room and I swear to you— all I could see were two stabby furious eyes and these mega HUMONGO lips (on the right side) protruding out of my MILS face.

“Angelina? Is that youuuu? Oh my heavens (slaps self’s cheek). I forgot. You were gonna have your tooth pulled today.”

Then for effect I add..


It was amazingly insightful thinking on my part to clean out the entire stash of Earl Grey and Chai tea bags from the “free cookies and tea” room at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Because according to an authority named Selma.. who also happens to live on the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor with Ru and is adamant that she was THE dental hygienist behind George Washington’s wooden bridge work. I know..right. She says— what you want to do is shove one of these puppies into Ru’s rather large gaping head gaping HOLE to help ease the pain and swelling. Naturally.. if one is to suck on a tea bag you want to choose your flavor. So.. I begin to get my bags ready by wetting them both and presenting Ru with the option.

“I don’t WANT tea right now. I want to go to my hospital room and lie down. Doctor.. can you DOOOOOO something?”

“Now Ru.. Selma says this will help you.” (Prying miffed Ru’s lips apart)

“Utts ELMA ot ewww ewww iff it?”

“Shhhhh. Don’t talk. Here.. let’s give you CHAI (shoves wadded up tea bag in). No? You don’t like Chai? Here’s the Earl Grey option.”

Yeah. Ru had quite the look going on as we returned to the halls of ROAM trying our best not to careen into Beth the Bawler who was dragging an eighty pound mahogany dining room chair behind her into oncoming hallway traffic. Um. Beth. Entertaining? Just be careful when you move the table sweetie.. wouldn’t want anyone to trip over it. Beth looks up at me.. then shifts her attention to Ru and snidely remarks, “Maybe she’d like a cup of WATER to go with her Earl grey? Ever think of that? Excuse me ma’am.. She’s gagging.”

What’s the matter with Earl Grey Ru? I thought you liked it?

“Yeah. But not to CHEW on.”

So I did what any compassionate member of My Sandwich Generation WOULD do. I shoved the Chai one in instead and took my drooling MIL to show off her pouty lip look at lunch.

Another HOT look.. off the runways of ROAM


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

Posted in Uncategorized 14 years, 2 months ago at 10:36 pm.


5 Replies

  1. My parents are 93 years old, in remarkably good health for their ages… until recently. They are still in their own home, but that won’t last forever. They both have wonderfully skewed senses of humor, which they have thankfully passed down to their 6 children. I am crazy about them.

    Your posts KILL ME! I fall down dead laughing, then I get back up and read them again, then I die again. And it’s all worth it.

    I love this blog.

  2. widdlydids Feb 25th 2010

    I can’t top you day! But I will say this that the laughter lines that are gathering around my crowsfeet is one of great fonderness. And yet I still have my ponting mouth,& yet 2 be taken away…
    thank you Ky

  3. Adrienne Feb 25th 2010

    Tori.. My guess is that it’s the family’s sense of humor that’s given them that awesome longevity.. because let’s face it.. OMGEEEEEE. Then there’s YOU– and your staggering ability to be KILLED dead by laughing.. and yet RISE up again! LOL. I love to hear this! Thank you so much for the comment and please.. keep me in the loop with the folks. Best to you!

  4. Adrienne Feb 25th 2010

    Ky.. the laughter lines beat the frown lines ANY DAY! Plus, you have the pout BABY. Hugs!