Stripped.. BARE
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
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