Taco Time

January 10, 2014

Things did not go very well when I stepped outside the box and made burritos and Spanish rice for Mrs. “B” tonight. She choked it down but turned her nose up at the idea of a taco salad fixin’s for tomorrow afternoon, wouldn’t hear of heating the meat and cheese and tossing it over the top of Frito chips either. I suppose I have to stick closely to the usual Midwest meat and potato diet or she’ll kick me to the curb. Had a hint of her stubbornness the time I made a cake mix in the form of a tin of muffins and all hell broke loose. Did offer up the sad, bit squashed-up banana I hauled around all day in my purse, hoping she would be open to some fresh fruit to mix with the canned pears swimming in thick syrup.  She gobbled it up and asked for seconds.

Wonder who will be wiping my bum in the tepid shower when I turn 88 ¾. Hope I have an energetic servant to boss around, complain about the friends that don’t call or stop by, relatives forget about me, someone who fails to notice my outfits are three decades behind the times, my shoes are thick and clunky, toenails too long and firm like a hoof. I would want someone to entertain me, to tell me stories to horrify/delight/shock/awe me and were kind enough, if they had no such tales, to make them up, knowing I am hard-pressed to keep track of the hero’s achievements. A caregiver that can dance and sing would be nice too. Someone flexible, a great chef, tailor, feng shui master, massage therapist, medic, doesn’t mind washing out my socks nor care that everything in the house smells faintly like urine. Christmas décor stays up until nearly Valentine’s day and, instead of charming little doo dads, most are chipped, cracked, seen much better days but, my person will not care in the least.

Are you out there. Will you be ready to come help me when I need someone. Can I stay in my house forever and have you come to me. I suppose I have time to sort it out. There will be a cue at the Inquiry Desk.