MOTHER PLUCKER

Dear Diary,

I LIVE A DANGEROUS LIFE.. many missions that I undertake have huge risks associated with them. Take for instance my under cover work as PLUCKER. A steady hand, the sharpest of eyes..one wrong move and it’s oozing blood and hysteria.. usually mine.. all over. Today, I have no choice, I have to go in and..OUCH.. WAAAAAH! My face contorts and I curse the fact that this hair plucking thing is not a service the FACILITY offers. Let THEM be held responsible for pain inflicted on a poor (hardly) elderly (pleeze), UGGS wearing (beige slip-ons, I D-I-E) dementia patient. Ruth is just so darned nice about me gouging her and leaving bleeding hair follicles in my wake of destruction. Always following the yank, is a kindly hand pat and sympathetic smile for the woman rooting out chin hairs with the tenderness and skill of a first year dental student attempting a “plaque scrape” for the very first time.
“Sorry.. sorry.. sorry it won’t happen again.” I lie with trembling lower lip.
I know it’s a lie, Ruth knows it’s a lie, all the Happy Daze staff knows it’s a lie. I will inflict more PAIN because THAT’S WHAT I DO. Ruth will smile and console me, encouraging me until the LAST..OUCH..HAIR..AUGHH..HAS..PHEEE been..PLUCKED!

NEXT?

A