Mom saw the dental surgeon today. MY dental surgeon, not hers. Hers would be a walk in the park. Just suck down a Vicodin and a shot of Old Crow and let 'im go to town! But we're talking about *ME*. My teeth (or shall I say FANGS) are far more fearsome than any you'll find in Mom's mouth. My teeth grow SPIKES. Long, jaggedy spikes that threaten to rip my tender tongue to shreds! Or at least poke me in the cheek.
Anyway, my dental surgeon won't work on me without general anesthesia because I am such a "Stressie Bessie". I beg your pardon?? Just because I showed a little attitude to the otoscope..."High spirited" is a much nicer term than "high strung", wouldn't you agree? Anyway, he's a specialist and works fast. He promises to knock me out, file me down, and pack me up to go home all in less than two hours. Mom won't even have time to fret, and fretting is what she does best.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
The "B" word
Mom can no longer deny the ravages of time. She's officially a geezer, thanks to her brand new bifocals, fresh from the Wal*Mart Vision Center.
She didn't even get the transition specs, the ones that would have allowed her to at least pretend to still be vibrant and youthful. No, she figured "in for a penny, in for a pound", and chose sturdy rhinestone-studded frames worthy of Great-Aunt Agatha, lenses sliced across the middle with the traditional line of demarcation. All she's lacking now is a decorative gold-tone chain to hold them securely 'round her neck, nestled against her sagging bosom.
It took her long enough to get to this point of acceptance. She's been peering and squinting for a few years now, and Granny finally had enough. "Take the check and GO!" she shrieked, and Mom had no choice but to drag herself in for an exam. The optometrist was a kindly woman who refrained from saying, "It's about time", and instead patted Mom gently on the shoulder, like one might comfort a loved one on their first day in the nursing home.
Mom came home and wept bitterly, or at least groused a bit, and buried her sorrows beneath a gargantuan slab of pumpkin pie smothered in whipped cream. A pie, I might add, that she didn't even SHARE. Then she browsed through the shopping pages in search of elastic-waist pants and sensible shoes. Maybe now the clerks will stop asking for her ID when she buys wine. Instead they'll ask if she'd like the senior discount.
She didn't even get the transition specs, the ones that would have allowed her to at least pretend to still be vibrant and youthful. No, she figured "in for a penny, in for a pound", and chose sturdy rhinestone-studded frames worthy of Great-Aunt Agatha, lenses sliced across the middle with the traditional line of demarcation. All she's lacking now is a decorative gold-tone chain to hold them securely 'round her neck, nestled against her sagging bosom.
It took her long enough to get to this point of acceptance. She's been peering and squinting for a few years now, and Granny finally had enough. "Take the check and GO!" she shrieked, and Mom had no choice but to drag herself in for an exam. The optometrist was a kindly woman who refrained from saying, "It's about time", and instead patted Mom gently on the shoulder, like one might comfort a loved one on their first day in the nursing home.
Mom came home and wept bitterly, or at least groused a bit, and buried her sorrows beneath a gargantuan slab of pumpkin pie smothered in whipped cream. A pie, I might add, that she didn't even SHARE. Then she browsed through the shopping pages in search of elastic-waist pants and sensible shoes. Maybe now the clerks will stop asking for her ID when she buys wine. Instead they'll ask if she'd like the senior discount.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
O Sole Mio
It's no wonder the neighbors cringe and turn away when they see Mom coming. They've got to think she's certifiably insane. Why, just today she was puttering around outside, in her "Sunday best" sweatpants with the big hole in the rear end, muttering to herself and shrieking every time she saw what might be a bee. And last night she forgot all the windows were open and serenaded the neighborhood with a spirited round of "Greens and Goodies", our night-night song. I would blush crimson with shame, but you couldn't see it anyway what with my thick velvety fur.
Mom thought Granny was bad when she crooned lovingly to the forsythia bush as she whacked it near to the ground. I have to say, between the two of them, Mom's the most embarrassing. At least Granny can claim to be "elderly", which automatically gives her the right to be eccentric and crotchety. Mom has no such excuse. She's just bats.
Mom thought Granny was bad when she crooned lovingly to the forsythia bush as she whacked it near to the ground. I have to say, between the two of them, Mom's the most embarrassing. At least Granny can claim to be "elderly", which automatically gives her the right to be eccentric and crotchety. Mom has no such excuse. She's just bats.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)