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Alien Dude and Smart Alec with granny Ru

Dear Diary,

Never UNDERESTIMATE dementia’s ability to RUIN your attempt to deceive when you least expect it. It’s almost eerie.. as if IT has a MIND of it’s own. Like the dementia inside my MIL Ru’s head KNOWS when I’m totally BULL SHWANKING her and then it’s all, I KNOW what would be FUN. Let’s totally jerk your DIL’s chain by having your ole memory banks fire AROUND the amyloid plaque depositions causing you to spew forth something akin to.. accurate FACT. That’ll teach HER to tell you she’s driving you over to your OTHER DIL’s house for Thanksgiving lunch..instead of the truth— She’s taking you over to HERS. Because HER own house is a disgrace.. with LEGO’S and clean laundry thrown all hither thither and she can’t get rid of that yummy burned pumpkin pie smell wafting through the halls. Then DEMENTIA’S all, “I’m gonna now open up this little pathway here (ughh ughhhhhhh) and BAM! Bwahahaha.” Screw YOU dementia. Beeotch.

(FIRE Neuron degradation fixer on my GO. ZAPP!)

“What OTHER DIL’S do I have? Are you telling me there are OTHERS I had to choose from.. ALL. THIS. TIME? I find THAT very hard to believe.”

My day started out with me scurrying up to Ru’s room on the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor of Happy Daze Assisted, ready to make awesome memories happen. I’m all about the element of CLUELESS with granny when it comes to special occasions or holidays..because if I give her any HINT of what’s coming, then I’ll be hearing of nothing else my friends, at one hour intervals for the next umpteen days till the start of said event.

I made the mistake once pffft.. or TWICE— when I told Ru her birthday was coming up and we were going to have a surprise party for her. Yeah. Shut-up. I know.. WHAT dummy would TELL a person they’re getting a SURPRISE party? Well, what are the chances she’s going to remember? Like slim to NONE, right? WRONG. For the next MONTH Ru’Mae wouldn’t walk into a BATHROOM without carefully PEERING around the corner first.. then going in slowly, flicking on the lights and shouting, “SURPRISE? Anyone?” It wasn’t all a waste. Saved us from a heart attack and gave Sylvia the heads up when she somehow wandered ONTO the wrong COMMODE.

There she MIL— standing at her toilet clapping madly for it to flush when I came barging in.

“Having any kind of LUCK with that sweetie?”

I have become absolutely oozing HATEORADE on any new concepts that MUST be introduced to Ru at this stage in life.  I swear, you show her an automatic soap dispenser.. followed by twenty minutes at the automatic sink. Then she’s ruined for life. GA. It’s NOT the c-l-a-p-p-e-r Ru.. although you MIGHT be on to something with a single letter change. heh. Just FLUSH it. K?

“Guess what day it is?”

Yup. ALWAYS smart of me to start off with EASY questions before moving on to the real TOUGHIES.

“MY birthdayyyy?”

Ru, who’s now made her way over to the bed heaped with strewn assorted shirts, scarves and pants that’s she’s in the process of organizing into a “COLOR STORY”, looks up with big bugging out eyes in complete disbelief.

“Come. On. Didn’t I just HAVE my birthday already LAST year?”

Yeah. No. It’s not your birthday Ru and WHY you would put that Tangerine Ralph polo with the Plum Liz vest.. is SO beyond me at the moment.

Ummm.. People of My Sandwich Generation— just a note. When it appears that your loved ones faculties are faltering.. you can count on some SERIOUSLY amazing creativity to kick in as compensation. LAWDY! It’s like NATURES way of saying, YOU may NOT be able to remember that the BRA goes on the inside of the shirt.. but YES.. it so works to mix stripes with plaids and.. LACEY hoochie blouses with a turtleneck and leather ski mitts. Love it. Today just wasn’t going to be THAT day.

Finally after yanking on Ru’s, “I really love MY..”  stripey shirt.. that she’s worn for three consecutive days weeks and her least spotted elasticized waisted pants (because EVERY day is T day up on ROAM) I was able to hustle her downstairs and into my awaiting car and zoom off.. to the land of overcooked TOFURKEY and some smokin’ Pumpkin Pie flambé.

“If I remember right.. That’s YOUR place (Was gonna say SHACK I’m sure of it.) I would recognize YOUR house anywhere. I call it the LAUNDRY house. Remember the LAST time I was here? FOUR months ago. On a WEDNESDAY. At 2:23 PM. R-e-m-e-m-m-m-b-e-r? I must’ve sat there all DAY folding the clothes in that (pathetic, disgraceful..what kind of wife are you to my SON) overflowing LAUNDRY BASKET.”

Yo. Are you suuuuuure THAT’S my house? Hmmmm? How MUCH sure? $10.00 sure?

My only hope at this point is to pray that my MIL’s macular degeneration doesn’t auto correct itself too. Oh the SHAME if she walks in and SEES.. something. Anything. No. These badass miracles are going to NEED to stop ASAP or I might crumble right here on this heap of LEGO’S that I am pushing under the ornamental Cornucopia basket with my foot as we enter. This was supposed to be my fictional Sister-in-laws house and THOSE children spraying us with NERF pellets? HER kids. Until SOMEBODY forgot she couldn’t remember.. and DID.

“My Thanksgiving success is based— NOT in the number of dishes I make that are EDIBLE.. but by the amount that weren’t lost in oven flames.”


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Posted in Uncategorized 12 years, 8 months ago at 7:27 pm.

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