DOB and TCG are going out. For her to do some banking. She just had her visit from the home healthcare giver and had bath, and her wet hair is plastered to her almost bald scalp.
UCC Are you ok to go out with your head wet? It’s cold out.
DOB: Feeling her head, finding it wet, acting like a sleepwalker abruptly awoken. Saying, in surprise: I’d forgotten about that.
WISIMH: Of course you have, bless your little heart. It happened more than 2 minutes ago.
UCC: And do you want a hat?
DOB: Feeling her head, finding it wet, acting like a sleepwalker abruptly awoken. Saying, in surprise: I’d forgotten about that, or words to that effect.
WISIMH: And had you forgotten that the popularity of Jell-O peaked in the mid 1960s, and was often made by incorporating real and artificial dairy products. Had you forgotten that these days, gastronomic experts consider Jell-O déclassé. , the war on poverty, financial meltdown, the GWOT, or the madwoman screaming in the attic?
UCC: Blah, blah, hat?
And, accompanied by the sound of crickets from both DOB and TCG, I got my gardening hat and handed it to her, but finding her too dumbfounded to take it, putting it on her fucking head.
UCC: … there ya go.
Much huffing ensues as the party departs from the front door.
Two minutes pass.
My cell phone rings.
Pause, sound of fumbling, hang up.
Cell phone rings.
TCG: …know if you could you go into Mother’s room....
WISIMH: Blah, blah, could YOU provide a bit more information? For example: relating the funny story about, say, WHY the fuck I should I go into DOB’s room? Is there an Improvised Explosive Device waiting to send me to Allah?
Sadly, I understand, you are incapable of using too many words at once. You are running out of your words. Increasingly, you are relying on me to supply the fucking context you no longer can muster. What happens when you begin to run out of thoughts, in addition to running out of words to express them?
UCC: In breathless anticipation: Ok, I’m there.
TCG: Can you get her phone on the table?
WISIMH: I’ll buy a clue, Alex. Which of the three tables in DOB’s room?
UCC: Got it! (on the third table, honestly.)
TCG: Can you bring it to us?
UCC: OK, I’ll wait ‘til I hear the driveway alarm bell.
TCG: We’re here. We haven’t left yet.
WISIMH – although I may have said aloud: What the fuck?