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B. Bitty

My MIL Ru.. the NICE old lady.Dear Diary,

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.


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Posted in Uncategorized 14 years, 2 months ago at 9:55 pm.

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