month or so ago I had a run-in with a toilet that left a small yet deep gash on my wrist. This topic came up during our large family Christmas gathering last night and of course I was obligated to show off the still obvious wound. (My cousin easily trumped it, though, with his missing fingernail due to doctors having to remove it after a run-in with a wood chipper broke the tip of one of his finger bones. Ouch!)
Today, as the kids and I drove home from church, I guess last evening’s dinner conversations were still fresh as Ann asks me if my cut will ever heal. I tell her that it’s probably a permanent scar. “So,” she says, “when you’re playing BINGO in the nursing home, they’ll be like…”
(Ok, wait—nursing home? I’m about to break in and ask her about that, but she’s on a roll.)
She continues by switching to her idea of an “old person’s” voice—something that I can only can only describe as Diane Rehm with Laryngitis, (for those who don’t know, Diane Rehm has a slow, warbling way of talking), before going on:
“’Where did you get that scar?’
‘Fixing a toilet in my mid-30’s.’
(I’m not sure who got BINGO as I guess to Ann all “old people” voices sound the same, but think it was me. Regardless, to her I’m still in my “mid” 30’s. Yay!)
With the monologue over, I asked her why she thought I’d be in a nursing home. She replied as if it had already been planned and decided, “When you get old, we’re putting you in nursing home.” William quickly adds in a very calm and mature voice, “It’s the best thing for you…”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but I didn’t need to as the kids were already occupied figuring out what they were going to do with other people when they get “old”—aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc. There were a couple arguments, but agreements were quickly reached and within the space of two minutes they had pretty much sealed everyone’s fate. I guess that makes it easier for everyone as Ann and William already have it figured out. I’m just not sure what “old” means to them, though: A certain age? A state of mind? Something else?
After that whirlwind judgment session, they got down to what they were going to do to each other when they got “old”. Ann pointed out that she was older so would decide. William then countered that since she’d be “old” first, he’d decide. They compromised with them both living together in the same “assisted care facility.” That’s pretty sweet as I see it; for all their squabbling they love each other, no? I thought that this was a pretty interesting conversation, but the kids were already off on another project.
“Do you have any potatoes,” asks Ann? I’m thinking she’s talking about lunch, so tell her yes, but ask her why. “Just because,” she answers. That’s a red flag, so I press and she fills me in. I guess Ann and William have been planning to play “spa” where Ann is the masseuse and William the client. For facials, Ann gave me a quick lesson on certain things like putting slices of things on one’s eyes to reduce swelling (?) and that potatoes have been shown to be more effective than cucumbers. (At some point in there William interjects that he has “swollen eyes.”) I quickly nix that idea.
We arrived at home and there was lunch to be made—no potatoes involved. Ann and William headed up on their “spa” project, (with stern warnings that there were to be no “concoctions” involved), while I made pizzas. A few minutes into pizza making, I hear them argue over some YouTube videos of nature sounds followed by shrieking. Now, I’ve never been to a spa except for taking Ann and a couple friends to one for a “full treatment” for her birthday a year and a half ago, but there were no waterfall and bird noises, and definitely no shrieks there, so I go up to investigate.
“Chinese Walking Therapy”, Ann tells me standing on William’s shirtless back with various bottles of lotion scattered about while the upstairs computer filled the house with sound effects…