You can DEPENDS on me

Dear Diary,

I know this is a bit of a delicate subject but I’m just going to undress the issue head on. For the record– this is the second time in less than a month that grandma has forsaken the usual under-garb that our culture mandates unacceptable to forgo (look at poor Lindsay, Paris or Britney..not too closely). Instead she has chosen to thumb her nose at society by going..um..how do I put this? Going COMMANDO. My own feeling on this hot new trend is..I’m just not going there. But whatever floats your boat. With Ruth, the drowning potential in HER boat is huge. Especially after downing a 16oz Mango-Banana Extravaganza from Jamba Juice, which will push those flood gates WIDE OPEN.

Is this sudden minimalist behavior a brazen act of defiance? Naah..Ruth, for as long as I have known her has always kowtowed to our societal highbrows; every aspect of her dress has always been impeccable and in the highest taste (no Cosmo Girl hootch-wear EVER). I may be reading too much into this. Probably it was a slight slip in the “daily functioning” chip that caused this glitch and even though we’re signed up for “dressing assistance” at Happy Daze Assisted Living at the a la carte rate of.. n e v e r m i n d. Things still have a way of falling through the cracks (holes).

Standing in the dressing room of Macy’s with an exposed Ruth puts BOTH of us in an awkward position. My task was supposed to be a simple one..find some nice spring pants that will sit on Ruth’s waist and not on her hips (that look is so old school Juicy). Feh. No try-on’s for our Lady Godiva today. For a brief moment I panic. Over it. I remembered that I had a spare pair of Depends in my handbag.. somewhere. Why did I have disposable underwear in my hand bag you ask? This was the SECOND time Ruth went Au natural, remember?

There’s a first time for everything where Alzheimer’s is concerned. The first time mom escaped from the Dementia Floor with Blanche. The first big cuss-off between Marion, Granny (fully embracing her inner beeyotch) and Harriet. The first “you have no pants” doozy in the doctors office.

Because I needed to collect a little..specimen from Ruth and I had no intention of sitting with her coaching for an hour to get it, I had the brilliant foresight to take her to Starbucks and pump her full of a Venti sized Peppermint Mocha before she had to pee in the hat (don’t ask, I’ ll go there later). She gave it a try, but we were experiencing some performance anxiety so no go. It was then that I noticed..a bare… As I was saying, I didn’t feel like playing Russian roulette with Granny and her bladder, so I asked the nurse to find a pair of disposables to put on while we were waiting for some “action”. Game ON. Nothing in the entire doctors office. Fine, I get creative. Do you have any Maxi pads? No. Do you have any cotton balls? NO. “What the hells bells kind of doctors office is this?” I say gesticulating like a mad woman. You know what the male PA brings me? An examining table, paper cover…oh, about five feet of it. SUUURE! THHHING! I’m supposed to shove this in her pants?

It’s through these “firsts” of life that we take vows . I vowed to never let happen again.

Mothers of MY SANDWICH GENERATION you know how it is. Out comes the keys, shower-cap, hairbrush, cosmetic bag, spare socks, mittens, manicure scissors (see the sweater cutting incident*), tweezers, mini-scope, Kleenex (four pack), plastic emergency barf bag and a tic tac container (with three tics left). Then I take out MY stuff..wallet, camera, Motrin. Score! “Look Grandma! Look what I found?” I shake out the plastic foundation piece, freeing pounds of loose change from the leg holes with a flip of the wrist.

I’m not a betting woman, but I would put five hundred on the fact that before I take her out again..I’m peering down her pants..just to be on the safe side.

Be prepared.
A
* See past blog: Stuck for Good