I shouldn’t admit this, but then I’ve never really been what you would call proud… I went over to Lola’s today to check in. Jerome had his annual birthday class so I figured I could win her over with cake. Women over ninety and kids always fall for cake. She was no exception.
While she scarfed it — I’m serious, I don’t think she bothered to chew, she mentioned that something small and black had been on the floor. She said it jumped when she tried to pick it up. Sure, I wanted to cut and run, but that would be wrong. So I told her I’d look for it. LOOK FOR IT! YUCK. However, she’s 91, she hadn’t eaten, and old age is setting in. It was the least I could do.
Finally I found the little bastard bug (looked like a cockroach to me — I didn’t say anything because even the word has power), and told Lola I found it. Yes kids… I stood back and made a woman of 91 kill it with a fly swatter. She seemed willing, so who was I to stop her? I did, however, redeem myself a bit by getting it into the garbage and taking the garbage out. She wanted assurance that he wouldn’t crawl into her bed. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t a zombie cockroach who’d crawl out while I was there. Come on! She’s 91. She’s lived a full life.
I know… I’m a weenie.