TOG lives two blocks up a gentle
hill from a shopping center with a large grocery store. His scooter easily
makes the trip and he has a custom-made (by me, of course) shopping bag that
fits over the back of his scooter seat. He has actually gained a few pounds
recently by drinking those supplement shakes with added protein and calories.
They sell in 12-packs for about $23.
What I say in my head, it has
recently occurred to me, is like Luther the President’s anger translator: the
guy who takes what Obama says in measured tones and reasonable language; and expresses what he
really means using profanity and what I can agree with myself is straight talk scrubbed of
the diplomatic euphemisms. Here’s an example from a snippet of last weeks text
conversation:
TOG: I’m running low on Boost Plus. Will have to
make a run to Vons soon.
Me: Yeah, you don’t want to run out of that
stuff.
WISIMH: By which you mean,
you’re hoping I’ll offer to drop by with a couple of 12-packs for which you’ll
“forget” to reimburse me. Yeah, no.
TOG: Or, I suppose I could order it online.
Me: Good idea! You can order it from Amazon when you order
your porn or whatever else you order.
WISIMH: And conveniently forget that it’s my credit
card that now covers Paypal and is the default "buy it now" credit card, and offer to reimburse me for whatever useless
crap with an electronic remote you buy on Amazon monthly, and then conveniently
forget to reimburse me. BTW, did you know that you can order stuff on Amazon and enter your very own credit card?
This week’s text conversation:
TOG: My Vons is out of my Boost Plus. They said
they’ll be getting some soon, but since you and P are coming to dinner Friday,
how about each of you bring me a pack
of Boost Plus as the price of admission.
Me: Funny! Too bad you waited until you were out.
WISIMH: Ok, first of all, you daft bastard, why did
you wait until you were out? Oh, right. You’re an indolent sluggard who
expects me to rescue you. And plus,
Vons is out? That’s like WalMart being
out of cheesy poofs. No. You’re a lazy lying slug with a smoldering shell.
So, having learned passive
aggression from the master, I got a single
12-pack at my Vons and mentioned to the cashier about the Vons near TOG’s place
running out and the cashier did a figurative spit-take and said that would be
as likely as the pharmacy running out of insulin. Then I went to dinner with P
as planned. Funny story: although DYS was at dinner too, her price of admission
was apparently jack shit because it clearly wasn't a frickin’ 12-pack of Boost Plus.
Dinner table conversation:
TOG: Did you bring the Boost?
Me: Hi, Sweetie. It’s good to see you too. It’s
in the car. Since I’d texted you that we’d be 5 minutes late and you’d texted
back that you and DYS wouldn’t wait to order your meal…
WISIMH: … like a host with
decent manners would…
Me: … I thought I’d head right to
the dining room and get your present later.
The rest of the dinner
conversation was DYS relating the story of her day in divorce court this week with Tex
and their respective lawyers. Highlights included the part where Tex denied he
had a girlfriend and later said his wife hasn’t lived with him since he and his
girlfriend had been together for the
last 8 years; the part where Tex said
DYS’ legal residence was in MO and she whipped out her CA drivers license and
CA tax returns; the part where Tex said DYS was on Social Security Disability –
which she isn’t and which I'm guessing is pretty easy to establish; the part
where Tex’s smug young lawyer was shocked - shocked! – when DYS presented
evidence of Tex’s hidden bank accounts and assets. Then:
DYS: And so now I’m stuck here until our next
court date in September and I have to get all this other stuff together because
I have the burden of proving that although I moved out in 1999, I’ve returned home at least annually specifically to establish that we’re still married and I legally
reside here, and I’m so stressed out and I have all this stuff to do and I’m
stuck in the trailer without a car and blah blah poor me blah blah…
WISIMH: So you flew here on your broom? Excuse me, you have a
little stupid stuck to your chin there, let me wipe it off. And no, I’m not
picking up that big fat hint to loan you my car. And by the way, good thing you
didn’t have to deal with the added stress of taking care of your mother’s legal
and medical matters, or with the kind of stress your DOS (Deadbeat Older Sister)
is dealing with cleaning up the house and estate of her recently deceased
94-year-old spouse who has taken the last six months to die bedridden of, among
other things (like pugilistic dementia, pneumonia and congestive heart failure)
gangrene on his latest amputated limb - a process that made the entire house
smell so bad even the termites broke out of the wall between the kitchen and
the hall. Or for that matter, pretend to give a shit about a husband who can’t
bother to eat the 3 squares cooked for him daily and is unable to buy his own
Boost supplements.
Later as TOG rode down in the
elevator to “walk” me to the car and get his Boost:
Me: Boy, this has been a busy day for me, I went
to the lab, the grocery store, the vet….
TOG: (Interrupting) Tell me about it…
WISIMH: Funny, I was trying to do just that when…
TG ... I had to catheterize 3 or 4 times, pick up the remote and change channels 5 or 6 times, go to the front desk to buy meal tickets for my dinner guests, which involves pushing the elevator buttons for two buildings both up and down, and that’s not even counting elevator trips up and down for breakfast and lunch.
WISIMH: Funny, I was trying to do just that when…
TG ... I had to catheterize 3 or 4 times, pick up the remote and change channels 5 or 6 times, go to the front desk to buy meal tickets for my dinner guests, which involves pushing the elevator buttons for two buildings both up and down, and that’s not even counting elevator trips up and down for breakfast and lunch.
WISIMH: Ok, maybe that’s not what he actually said. I
might have heard that his pee-pee hurts; his sister spent the afternoon there
making him scan and fax papers for her divorce when he should have been napping;
that he had to pop the top on a can of Boost. Wait, no Boost, poor baby. But
perhaps just as well because that could have pushed him over the edge.
Me: (At the car) Here’s your Boost.
WISIMH: And my check?
TOG: (Turning to P who is poorer than a homeless church
mouse) What only one 12-pack? Where’s yours?
Me: Seriously? I’m guessing this will hold you until Vons
re-stocks. Besides this cost almost $25.
WISIMH: So? My check?
TOG: Or, I suppose I could order it online.
WISIMH: Or, I suppose you could pull it out of your
ass. Thank me very much. I’m so very welcome.
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