Amy Newmark - Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul: Age is just a Number: 101 Stories of Humor & Wisdom for Life After 60

Changing your life one story at a time

www.chickensoup.com

The New Normal

Slips of the Tongue

I am so clever that sometimes I dont understand a single word of what I am saying.

~The Remarkable Rocket by Oscar Wilde

G ood morning, Dad. Whats new?

Oh, hi, Margie. Nothing much. Your mother is doing some online shopping. I think shes ordering a shroud.

A shroud?

Yeah, do you want to talk to her? Shell tell you all about it.

Having overheard my husband and daughters conversation, I snorted. I took the phone from Georges hand but couldnt talk because I was laughing so hard.

Mom, are you crying?

No, laughing, I managed to croak.

You ordered a shroud? Margies voice had risen an octave.

No, I ordered a bathing suit cover-up. The shroud thing is one of your dads many malapropisms.

Margie began to laugh hysterically. I hope youre writing them down.

I am. I bought a notebook. I swear, since he retired, this speech stumble thing is just crazy. I think its because hes not having as many interactions with other people. Its entertaining for me because theyre getting funnier.

By the way, we love the Amazon Echo you bought us for Christmas, but Dad has a hard time remembering how to activate it. One day, I heard him call from the kitchen, Melissa, Alissa, Melinda I came into the room and saw him ready to pounce on the thing. He announced, This is infuriating! I am so vivid!

Vivid? I asked.

Yeah, Ive never been so mad at a thing!

Her name is Alexa, I said. He gave me a sheepish look.

Margie burst out laughing again, You two sure do keep me entertained.

We got off the phone, and I sat down to note the latest incident. I started reading through my collection of Georges malapropisms to find they were just as funny as when I first heard them.

One day, he came into the house, shut the front door, and sagged against it. I walked around the corner from the kitchen to ask if he was okay. He held up his hand.

Dont talk to me right now. I just need ten minutes to decompose.

I walked back into the kitchen, hoping his decomposing didnt make a mess in the recently cleaned foyer. I scribbled keywords of this interaction on a napkin as I tried to laugh quietly.

Our daughter introduced us to the delightful taste of quesadillas. We both love them, but George cannot, for the life of him, remember what theyre called. One day, he turned to me after breakfast and asked, Can we have conquistadors for supper tonight?

Conquistadors? I had no idea what he was talking about. What are they?

You know, Margie made them for us. Theyre those things in a tortilla that are browned and crunchy on the outside with good meat and cheese inside.

Ah, I think you mean quesadillas.

Yeah, those.

Sure, no problem. I scrambled toward my notebook.

After dinner one night, we gathered all the waste cans in the house to empty them. George tied up the big white bag and, with a flourish of his arm, announced, Madam, I shall depose this trash. He was out the door in a flash.

I pictured him as a legalistic attorney, recorder on the table, questioning the offending garbage as he collected evidence for a case.

Once he mastered Alexa, George learned he could ask for the music of his choosing. One afternoon, he requested, Alexa, play Little Big Horn.

From the laundry room, I could hear an argument taking place between my husband and an electronic voice.

What seems to be the trouble? I asked.

I was trying to play one of my favorite country groups, Little Big Horn. Its not working, he said, pointing to the flashing hockey puck.

Maybe if you asked her to play Little Big Town, youd get somewhere.

He scowled.

I walked toward the desk and my notebook.

Paging through my notes, I came upon the funniest one of all time, but this time George was not the offender. His best friend was, but George was a willing accomplice, hanging on every word.

We were visiting our friends Anne and Bill for a few days. Anne prepared a sumptuous breakfast and had gone into the kitchen to retrieve cinnamon buns from the oven. Friends for over thirty years, the two men at the end of the table began to exchange stories of health issues plaguing men over a certain age. Bill related his experience of having a prostate biopsy. He reassured George, It didnt hurt because the doctor numbed me, and it only took a few minutes. I never had any side effects, and now all we have to do is wait for the autopsy report.

I had just taken a big mouthful of freshly squeezed orange juice. My eyes widened, and I bolted from the table into the kitchen, bursting through the swinging door. Anne looked up at me as she held a pan of hot buns in her oven mitts. I tried not to choke as I shook with laughter and attempted to swallow.

What did he say now? Anne inquired before she burst out laughing. She knew her husband.

I told her. Both of us convulsed as we leaned against the countertops. Bills been like this ever since he retired.

Just as I suspected, retirement is the culprit. I rest my case.

Nancy Emmick Panko

Forgetting

Does anyone else put things in a safe place and forget then where the safe place is?

~Author Unknown

Y esterday, I went to the basement and just stood there. Was I there for laundry? No. Extra paper towels? No.

I thought I could reconstruct what sent me down to the basement, so I backtracked through my thoughts. I came up with nothing.

But I wasnt about to go back upstairs empty-handed, so I grabbed a pair of pliers from my husbands workbench. When I got to the kitchen, he was there eating lunch.

What are you doing with the pliers?

I dont know.

What do you mean you dont know?

I thought for a moment about making up a story about how he had promised to fix the whatchamacallit months ago but forgot, and so I had to do it myself. But why compound memory loss with lying?

I went to the basement to get something, forgot what I went to get, so I grabbed your pliers.

Heres where I wish I could say we laughed, split an egg-salad sandwich, and continued in our domestic bliss. But thats not what happened.

He looked alarmed. Granted, his face looked the same as when he was feeling pity, surprise, anger, or any other emotion. Thats why he has no lines on his face; it has never been used. But these are the kinds of digressions that got me into this mess in the first place.

He said, We only have one working memory between us