When I’m sixty-four…

Saturday, after the girls were finished with their lessons at PetSmart, we went to visit our dearest Miss B:

She was quite happy to see ALL of us.

The first time I met Miss B she told me she was dying.  I thought she meant she had cancer or something, but no.  For Miss B, once you make it to a particular age marker, "dying" is her reply to "how are you doing?".  That was ten years ago.  She is twice my age and no longer drives because she doesn’t want to die at the wheel.  So now she pays a fella to drive her places.

We’re in her living room, all settled in with nice glasses of ice water, the girls have a nice fresh bowl of water in the kitchen, and thus begins the show.

Miss B’s short term memory was stolen from her when she was under anesthesia while having a new hip installed a couple of years ago.  I don’t mean she tells the same stories over and over.  I mean she asks the same questions over and over.  Like she is constantly offering you something to drink or eat.  No matter that you’re sitting right beside her with your bourbon in one hand and a lovely piece of cheese in the other. 

It’s hard to get Hubby to go with me to visit Miss B.  He tires of her quickly and just waits to go home.  I’ve tried putting the races on her tv for him, but no, he doesn’t want to appear rude…

Miss B can fall asleep Just Like That.  Any lull in the conversation or just seven minutes since she last dozed off and down she’ll go.  I was lucky enough to get this shot with my ever present handy dandy cell phone camera: 

A minute later she woke herself with her own sleep talking.

"Was I snoring?"

"No, but SHE took your picture while you were asleep," my husband tattles.

"I wasn’t sleeping," she snaps back with that southern and righteously indignant way she has, "I was entertaining."

And she gives me this look that I also get a shot of:

I was really surprised this picture came out so well.  I was laughing so hard at Miss B’s remark that she was entertaining because it put this memory of an old post by the retired-from-blogging Mist1, "Pants and Entertaining," right up there in that laugh out loud part of my brain that lacks any conscious power of restraint.

So yesterday I’m sitting in a waiting room for my yearly MAMMOGRAM and across from me is this old guy;  whom I’m guessing is waiting for his better half while she’s getting her boobage abused.  He keeps nodding off and then snapping back awake.  He looks at me and I smile at him.  He seems embarrassed that I have witnessed his public dozing and tries to deceive me by covering his face…like I wouldn’t know he is not sleeping he is entertaining.