Today I became proficient at feeding peaches to an 83-year old woman in a nursery home. I know it is a nursing home, but my little old friend keeps calling it a nursery home.
It’s a really long story as to why I have been hanging out with an 83-year-old woman. The short version…my mother pawned her friend on me and ran!
Today we went, my mother and I, to visit her in the nursery home. My little old friend just moved a few weeks ago to a retirement home. I had been helping her sort through her things, weeding out her books, and selling some furniture. Since that time of my helping her move some items, she has fallen in her retirement home and has a bunch of broken bones and ended up in the Nursery home.
Upon arrival at the home, she is lying in her bed, lunch is being served, and the nurse is assisting her. Old people are amusing and annoying.
She is arguing with the nurse that her parents misspelled her name. The nurse’s name was Cheryl, spelled just that way C-h-e-r-y-l.
Nope. Not according to my little old friend. Maybe I forgot to mention that my little old friend once used to be a linguistic professor? Anyway, she kept insisting that her name should start with an S, since the CH consonant blend has the beginning sound like Charlie. Both Cheryl and I were trying very hard to contain our giggles and smirks. That’s when she told Cheryl to leave the peaches, that I would feed them to her. Uh, yeah, that wiped the smirk off my face.
You are probably thinking that I am not being very sympathetic.
Trust me, I feel for my little old friend. I can’t imagine getting old and not having anyone to take care of me. I feel I am blessed. I have three kids, so I can’t screw up that bad. One of them has to be around to take care of me…I hope? Maybe they will draw straws as to who visits me?
It’s the peaches.
I hate pickles. I hate everything about them. They repulse me. I especially hate the smell, that vinegar stench. I don’t dye Easter eggs because of that smell. I can’t stand them on my plate in a restaurant, the pickle juice making my sandwich soggy and gross.
So, what does a pickle have to do with peaches?
I dislike peaches almost as much as I hate pickles. So really, none of this has anything to do with my little old friend, not really. Except that I apparently suck at feeding peaches and was schooled on the proper way to feed peaches by an 83-year-old woman.
This is reason 1,085 why I need to really find a job. No, I don’t really have a list, but I bet if I sat down to make one, it would be about that long.
On that list: I need younger friends.
On the plus side, everyday I am adding new things to my resume.
Proficient at feeding peaches.