All. DONE.
Dear Diary,
Believe it or not.. my MIL Ru (dementia) and I are kind of in a weird place in our heads right now. Yeah. I know. So WHAT else is new? But not THAT kind of weird place. I have totally run out of creative and stimulating distractions to create (enjoy) together and we’re DYING of boredom. How on earth could DULL happen to US? Pffff. As far as I see it.. when you live up on a dementia floor, one day can become just like the next..REALLY easily. It has a way of sneaking up on you.. smothering you—(much like Walter’s halitosis issue) unless someone recognizes that you’re falling into a rut of shuffling around in your UGGS complaining about your botched pedicure and the robbery of your disposable pedi-thongs.. for days. All for lack of anything better to do. Seriously..you wore them ONCE granny. The whole idea behind disposable thongs is that you THROW them away once the tootsies are DRY. If you keep waving them in front of Marion’s face and taunting her with, “Don’t be Jonesing on my sandals sweetie. *wagging finger* They’re one of a kind and you’ll NEVAH find them at NORDSTROM.. so good luck with THAT.” You’re asking for trouble. I. Promise.
When all else fails Ru and I take ourselves downstairs for our own Assisted Living version of.. What NOT to Wear MEETS Ten Years Younger. With..and you KNEW this was coming— a slight twist. How is the show played? Before we can critique and therefore ASSIST (with our ever so helpful comments) our eager victims unsuspecting contestants, we have to GUESS a little about their past background.. going purely by our instinct. Who were they BEFORE they were standing outside of the Ladies RESTROOM screaming at their girlfriend “I don’t CARE that you have Claustrophobia. I MUST have the big stall.”
These benches are the best. Really. Because where else could you sit at Happy Daze Assisted Living and have such a fab view of all the residents milling around? We can check out the lobby area without craning our necks to assess our contestants.. which could lead to one of us losing our balance and toppling over on the tarmac in the middle of our show. Why look. Here comes our first.. subject. I look over at Ruth waiting for her honest appraisal. Granny is the “nice” judge.. always delicate and diplomatic. I’ll let HER go first. heh heh heh.
So what do you think of HER? I’m holding my gargantuan handbag up to my face and pointing..ever so discreetly from behind it. Ruth’s all like..WHAAAAT DID YOU SAY? Which LADY HAS the UGLY SEERSUCKER PANT? OH THAT ONE???? (waving to get lady’s attention) STOP that.. this INSTANT. Pfffff. I SO hate when she does that.
See the woman emerging victorious.. pumping her arms up and down, coming out of the POWDER ROOM? Look how all proud of herself she is for psyching out the competition. Can’t you SEE her? Look. NOW. She’s walking right towards us. Cue the music. Ladies and gentleman.. we have Ru’s DIL singing the appropriate song for the moment because this garbage elevator music they’re playing in the background is not cutting it. We’re pleased to bring you–
Right Said Fred and I’m Too Sexy…
Da tad a da tad a..I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt. So sexy it hurts … Cuz I’m a model dad a dad da daaaa and..
“You KNOW she’s had some SERIOUS work done don’t you?”
My MIL has such a nose for sniffing out any medical enhancements at a glance. It’s a gift.. really. A. GIFT.
“There’s no way those boobs are hers. If I had to guess..she had her work done in (pause to recall) late 1970’s..po-s-s-s-ibly early 80’s. See that nose? That’s Los Angeles.. SCREAMING 1968.”
So tell us Ru..how can you ascertain such remarkable information?
“It’s all in the pinch at the end and the ski slope middle.”
The nose pinched? Or the BOOBS?
Ruth is looking at me like.. DUH girlfriend.. have you NO. CLUE?
“I would say she must have been in.. perhaps the entertainment field in her youth.”
Pole dancer kind of entertainment?
Ruth has turned her attention to our second contestant. LOOK. HERE comes a comely looking woman (squinting and doing the once over). Why I think she couldn’t be a day over EIGHTY. Eighty-five.. Max. Nice thick hair. Lovely chest. Skin is fantastic. Could be Botox…
Excuse me? What’s your name dear?
FRANK.
Nice legs Frank.
Game over. Thanks to all for participating in our show.
A
Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.
I love playing that game although I usually do it at the mall sitting back with a cold drink, giving my bank card a break. Of course, whether I’m “good cop” or “bad cop” depends on the mood of the day. LOL