No News is Good News...?

Of course since I decided to document Mom's shelf displays, she hasn't done anymore. As my friend GA Boy says, Dangitbreath!

And if I don't write stuff down when she and I are adventuring, I remember nothing. Or mostly nothing. Or nothing worth mentioning. Or something.

We did go to the dermatologist a few weeks ago, there were some places on her nose that worried me. Doctor froze a couple of spots, which she endured quite well.

Lunch last Friday was uneventful.

We looked at pictures again. She is determined to make me the ugly one. One picture was of me a long time ago at Easter, all dressed up in a blue poofy skirted dress she'd made.
"Look how pretty Kay is," she said.
That's not Kay, it's me.
"No it isn't."
WTH.

 

Kay & I. Guam, 1963-4

(While in Florida doing the garage sale, my nephew collected photos of Aunt Kay. When offered pictures of Aunt Kim, he politely declined. Dissed by my own mother AND a nine year old!)

Prior to lunch I got her to allow me to wash her hair before we left. Rather like the Two Stooges.
First we had to find the shampoo, because it was not in the bathroom (natch); that took about ten minutes. Get her to skootch closer to the shower, bend her head down, skootch closer - no closer - the other way [subtle push], towards the shower.
At one point I laid the shower head down, while it was on. What was that Wham-o toy that you attached to a lawn sprinkler hose that made it act like a unpredictable water spouting snake? That's what it was like. We both got soaked, but it was funny.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret - other people's hair makes me retch. Other people's wet hair stuck on my hands - oh god. Thinking about it right now is making me a bit gaggy. All the way to the cafeteria she kept finding strands of her hair on her clothes, then she'd drop them in. my. car. Gah. I almost threw up. Seriously.

Clearly I am not cut out to be a hairstylist.