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My MIL Ru's big 2 incher

Dear Diary,

Never have I seen such DRAMA over something as innocuous as a CHIN HAIR. Now..I don’t want to overstate it.. but this wasn’t any ordinary chin hair— And on CLOSER inspection.. if I could just sqqqqquishhh my way past your little dementia clad friends Ru. EXCUSE me Blanche; I want to see My MIL’s whiskers. K? No dear.. I most certainly will NOT grease your palm with a GREEN BACK for the good seats. Move aside people.. MOTHER PLUCKER coming through.

I finally climb over the last walker to get to my MIL.. who’s sitting at the dining table thoughtfully pulling on her two-inch goatee. Let me see Ru. Take your hand away.. Relax would ya? I’m just doing the initial exam you don’t NEED the drugs. Yet. Ewww. Yeah. That’s a dozy all right. I say, while rubbing my finger over granny’s craggy jaw line. GAWD. Let’s just take care of those little saplings RIGHT now.

Are you surrrre we have to do it now? It’s just.. that I don’t k-n-o-w if I’m UP for it.

1. Tie a pink teensy weensy bow around it.

2.  Dye it with food coloring (dip it in the Tomato soup, beet salad, Jell-O mold served at lunch)

3.  Name it little Ricky

4. Curl it..then wax the tip.

5. Tourist attraction for the (functioning..cough cough) family members who have nothing to do when they show up.

I’m looking around the Happy Daze Assisted’s entertainment room.. Which I may add.. I have NEVER seen used for anything entertaining EVER. With the rare exception of the time Jo took her full glass of juice and dumped it down the front of Rose’s nasty looking floral print (cannabis with branches and berries) polyurethane bow tie blouse, because Rosie was forcing some ratty stuffed animal in her face. Jo was not really feeling the whole “doggie wants a koosie” thang.

Finally I locate an unoccupied space.. kind of behind the TV cubby swinging doors and pull Ru along side of me. A great master such as I most simply, CANNOT be expected to perform optimally.. while hoards of BORED (out of their semi functioning brains) onlookers gather around us.. like the trainwreck watchers that they all are. Get comfy Ru.. just sit back and relax.

So.. uh hummm (clearing throat) what am I seeing you for today?

“What’s the matter? Is it POST NASAL DRIP? It’s probably mucus in your throat.”

GAAAAH. I roll up my sleeves and peer down at my MIL’s upturned face. Deep in thought of how the heck I’m going to get all this thinned out without Ru’Mae needing a blood transfusion after the fact. Then she’s all, ARE YOU going to trim them up a bit? STOP. Here are the rules Ru.. You can NOT talk to me when I’m in the MIDDLE of doing a procedure and stop pointing to your teeth as a SUBTLE hint that I’ve got something stuck in MINE. Ummmm.. I was just going to ask how much you’re thinking to take-off? To which I, the consummate professional reply— I’m thinking to thin them out a bit here.. (leaning in closer) maybe layer the front ones (yank)— we can try and grow out the fringe under the nostrils. That would look hot. OMG. Are we good? Let go of my’re getting it all sweaty.

I’m getting down to business with my ultra cool tweezers. I chose the top of the line red ones. NOT only are they pretty..but they have AMAZING grasping abilities. Nothing like seeing that plucking tool come at you and then you stop breathing waiting for the CRIPPLING pain as I pinch a half an inch of skin along with the hair. But DANG.. instead I miss totally.. and you’re all, YOU MISSED againnnnn? How hard can it be? Feh. These red ones get the job done with only minimal pain and suffering.. which is $4.35 WELL spent, I’m thinking. Anyway.. they instill confidence and make me look like the well-trained professional that I am. As IF dementia residents would have any idea that I wasn’t the most skilled surgeon in the country (who cares which COUNTRY) if I didn’t use red tweezers.

Then you know how you can actually FEEL when someone is WATCHING you? This weird vibe that someone was breathing down my neck made me tense up in the middle of a tug. You know..that creepy feeling. I couldn’t put my finger on it.. and it was almost like I could smell the scent of DREAD in the air (sniff sniff).. so I just went on with my work.. even though the hairs on the back of my neck were feeling all cold and ticklish (sniff sniff)

OH FOR PETE’S SAKE. There stood Marion.. her little elfin head bobbing up and down, checking out the accuracy of my work from over my shoulder. Giving me directions with the breath of a dragon emanating from her open.. NOSE?

A little to the left. No. Try again. A little to the right. S-t-e-a-d-y. Now don’t get nervous.. you’ve got this one. Down you go and..

ENOUGH. I can’t focus and I WORK better alone. Plus your hands are FREEZING Marion. Get them off of me right now and GO brush your teeth.  I smell BEEF STROGANOFF halitosis.

I’m looking over at granny who’s trying to help me with all kinds of interesting facial contortions. As if she can THRUST her hairiness into my tweezers. I know you think you’re ASSISTING.. but would you kindly refrain from pursing your LIPS together and sticking out your chin. I can’t land on my target when it’s MOVING. No. The loud PLEAS for mercy aren’t HELPING either.

I have a couple.. more.. to.. do and VOILA! Ru was rubbing her face and all.. Uhhhhh. Ohhhhhh. Ahhhhhh. It FEELS so nice— Like a babies bottom. The next thing I know.. a crazy stampede of hairy girls (and Walter) rush at me wanting only ONE thing— For ME to DO THEM too. Pfffft. The Mother Plucker doesn’t pluck just anyone. Try waxing.

My Sandwich Generation men and women.. it is not my job to pluck the ones YOU LOVE. Get ready to perform tasks that you never thought you’d do in the eldercare arena. Remember.. it takes a strong hand, a sharp set of eyes and one very strong STOMACH.

Missed. Ouch.


Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Posted in Uncategorized 14 years, 7 months ago at 6:16 pm.

1 comment

One Reply

  1. Oh my gawd. Have been there, and, yes. Just like that. So much more funny to read about it.

    Name it Ricky!!!