Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Every Gambler Knows The Secret To Wheelchair Drivin'

My favorite aunt called me today. My gambling aunt. We've been out of touch since she retired. I had to catch her up on my recent unfortunate hospitalization. She was howling. "You really need to write about this. I love your stories." Uh huh. At least I don't have to worry about her getting a T-shirt that says, My niece went to the hospital, and all I got was this lousy story.

The Gambler said she hoped I was feeling better after my blood clots. She had a second hip replacement a few months ago, so she is no stranger to the blood thinners. I told her how the littlest things tire me out. Like going to The Devil's Playground without my little Pony helper. "Oh, that store is SO spread out. The cat food is all the way against the back wall! I bought it at the grocery store the other day, but it cost twice as much. You need to ride that wheelchair cart in The Devil's Playground. That's what I did. But be careful. I knocked over a whole display of socks. So then I backed up, and apparently I bumped into something else. Because a lady ran after me and said, 'Did you know you're dragging a robe?' I drove all through the store with a woman's robe hooked onto the back of that wheelchair cart!"

We have a lot of catching up to do. She always knows the best gossip. And she hates to cook for herself. "We need to go to lunch one day."

"Okay. But I think I should drive. You know, because I'm on blood-thinners, and I don't want to die, and I don't want to get pulled over for dragging a woman's robe behind the car."


Sioux said...

Was she trailing a robe, or was she trailing George Costanza?

I guess she will be the first one in line at your book signing, when you FINALLY say yes to our clamoring and agree to collect all your stories and get them published.

(And I'll be second...)

Kathy's Klothesline said...

You should definitely drive! She does sound like fun, though. I strolled WalMart one winter when my furnace died. Mostly to stay warm until the repair part arrived. Anyhoo, I have a habit of talking to myself as I shop, mentally comparing prices and figuring how much I can re-sell an item for and still make a profit. Helpful associates (that is what the employees are referred to, as if they are all equals) kept approaching me and enthusiastically offering their help. I could barely make it up and down the aisles before one would pop up and offer assistance. I think I must have encountered every "associate" in the store including the management team. I was baffled until I was on my way home and looked down to see that one of the underwires in my bra had worked it's way up through the neckline of my shirt. Looked like a tiny microphone. They all thought I was a secret shopper grading their performance!! I have considered saving that bra to shop in, I got better service!

Hillbilly Mom said...

At least she wasn't dragging a sewing machine, making sparks to ignite a mail truck full of Extreme Flounders.

Flattery will get you everywhere. If that farfetched scenario every becomes reality, I will give you cuts to the front of the line.

At first I thought they were following you because, like Mrs. HM herself on the bedding aisle, they thought you were a shoplifter, and sent all manner of employees to shadow you.

An underwire "microphone!" I laughed out loud at that one.

Sioux said...

My god, I've got a bra like that. It was slated for the trash, but now it's going to be pressed (or poked) into service.