Went shopping today with one of my regular carers of the last four years and our adventures are always a highlight of my week. Despite when you read this, it’s mid-January now and Summer.
My carer and I walked out of the shopping complex and because it’s important I did an instant commentary of the weather. First an assessing frown and “OH?” It’s a little humid, but a cool breeze and a little light rain. To which ’T’ (let’s go with that) responded with something about her hot flushes and an advisement, that you should be able to flip a switch and opt out of Menopause.
And the banter had just begun.
“Well, I think your well past that option.”
T, still in fantasy land, so I tried again.
“OK, what if you sacrificed one of your children?”
She has three sons and one of course is the problem child. All adults now, but she loves them all the same.
She made a little sound like her decision would be easy and I told her she could not choose. I suggested, if she didn’t paint some of her husband’s blood above the front door, she would lose her first born. She did not like that suggestion and it wasn’t the part about blood-letting her husband.
She enquired where this has happened and when? Accompanied with the query “Does that really happen?”
I looked at her and told her where I had taken some of my inspiration and imagination from and declared nine years of Catholic School, such influence. I emphasised the “nine years” and pointed my thumb to my chest and I thought Catholic School has been a waste of my time.