Following yesterday’s hair dramas I took the responsible decision to stop antagonising Lady Pumpernickel and tie up my hair into a neat bun with the fringe clipped back. This seem to please her Ladyship no end. “Oh, your hair looks so smart,” she said, when I woke her up this morning. From there the day moved smoothly on, I obligingly made the right sympathetic sounds when she catalogued her aches and pains and she happily got up, showered and breakfasted with no fuss. The sun was shining so we took a spin in the car. She commented on the delightful landscape, the hot sun and the sweet sheep. I ummed and aahed in all the right places. Bliss.
But after lunch, she TURNED. We were in the bathroom and I was removing her sodden, yellowed sanitary pad from within the depths of her enormous granny pants (hysterically branded ‘Slenderella’s’):
Lady P: Well, where are you going with that?
Me: I’m putting this one in the bin.
Lady P: Why, there’s nothing on it.
Me: Well, actually it’s been used. It feels quite heavy.
Lady P: Oh, well I hope it doesn’t hurt you. In future I’ll have to be careful if you’re so…delicate.
I ignored the sarcasm and dodged Pumpernickel’s frantic attempts to squash my toes with her walker and steered her into the bedroom for her afternoon nap. Feeling rebellious she fought me as I tried to remove her shoes, stating emphatically that she would require their services in bed.
Shoes off, I asked if she’d like help getting her legs into the bed. “Legs or eggs? Legs or eggs?” she shouted and proceeded to cackle maniacally at her own hilarity for the next 10 minutes. Her parting shot, “Heh-heh-heh, I just can’t understand your language.”
Eish, sometimes, as my aunt likes to say, it’s all too much for a woman of good breeding.
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