Sunday, January 3, 2010

Toilet Training for the Young at Heart

Just got back from visiting my dad. It's been a few weeks since Mom died and he seems to be handling things just fine at the nursing home.

We bought him a shirt he's been asking for ... it's a lime green beauty from Penney's that has been permanently pressed enough to be worn three hundred and thirteen times without washing or drycleaning. Last week we bought its purple twin and he's been wearing it ever since. He told me that I should really get a few myself because of the way these "simonized shirts" feel. I didn't have the heart to tell him that this one wasn't waxed and polished.

He had company at his table in the dining room this afternoon ... his friend Rita (who also complains about the food, the staff, life ... just about everything) and his only male friend Sidney (a retired physician). Before Sidney arrived, Rita and Sam exchanged pleasantries:

Rita: "Sam ... are you gonna eat this barbeque stuff ... or whatever it is?"

Sam: "Yeah ... did you order it for me while I was in the bathroom?"

Rita: "No ... I was afraid to. You'd be mad at me if I was wrong."

Sam: "What? I'd be sad if you were gone?"

Rita: "No ... MAD IF I WAS WRONG"

Sam: (Talking to me) "You see ... Rita doesn't ever know what she wants to eat."

Rita: (Scowling at Sam and shaking her head) "Sam ... that's not what I said ...."

Sam: (Ignoring her and still talking to me) "So my new roommate uses a portable toilet. I was afraid he might use the regular one since we share it ... but I think we worked that out and we can go at different times."

Me: "I suppose that's a good thing although I don't really understand the mechanics ... and actually I don't think I want to know much more about that subject ... why don't you just eat your lunch before it gets cold." 

Sam: "Rita ... maybe I'll use your toilet ... what kind of toilet do you have?"

Rita never even looked up ... she just kept eating.

1 comment:

Bobby Allan said...

OMG, so funny!

I'm sorry about your mom, Joel.

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