In among the flurry of New Year greetings came one from Littlesis, “Happy new year I left my boots at your house.” Apart from making me laugh at the randomness of it, I’d probably have sent it in two messages rather than one sentence, I already know she’d left her boots behind as she’d left them in the stupidest place and I’d fallen over them twice before I had the presence of mind to put them away
Littesesis is known for being a bit forgetful. Boofuls and me usually have a little bet with ourselves about what she’ll leave behind this time and where we’ll find it. Tissues in the bed is the favourite one.
Just for the record Littlesis (I now she reads this) YEEEAUCH!
She’s can be a bit scatty, just like my mother.
It reminds me of the time (don’t know why ) when I was driving Mum home from somewhere, can’t remember where but it’s not important. Half way back on a busy, rush hour M6 motorway she began to have an angina attack. “It’s ok, I’ve got my tablets, carry on driving.” Was her reply to my instant attempt to pull over and ring an ambulance.
As I continued to drive in the rush hour traffic, Mum began the scrabbling in her bag . She always reminded me of a little mouse with the scrabbling. She was never able to find anything in her bag quickly because of all the junk in there so retrieving anything involved a five minute scrabble. On it went;
Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble, wheeze, gasp, clutch chest, scrabble scrabble. Clearly getting more panicky by the second she scrabbled more and more frantically in her bag. Of course the more panicky she got, the less chance there was of her actually finding anything
“Oh my God, Mother! I’m pulling over.”
” No, no, I’ve got them, I can’t get them out. You try.” And with that she flung the bag at me so I could find her tablets. The floppy bag landed on my lap with a soft ‘phluuuump.’ Inviting me to try and find anything with one hand in the myriad folds of fabric.
Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble, steer, flash, “sorry!” scrabble.
Keeping one eye on the traffic and the other on my Mum I steered with my left hand and scrabbled with my right, praying for a small miracle to happen.
I finally located the bottle but could I get it out of the bag? Could I hell. I could feel it, I could hold it but I couldn’t for the life of me (or Mum) get that bottle out of that bag. What the hell..?
Eventually I worked out that the lining in the bag had ripped and Mum had inadvertently dropped the bottle inside the lining. Once I’d worked how to get to the bottle it didn’t take long to get a couple of tablets out, steering with my knees as Mum was shaking too much by this time to do anything that involved fine motor skills and would have dropped them all over the floor, which would have involved yet more scrabbling.
She managed to take the medication and quickly began to feel better. If only the same could have been said for me, I was a gibbering wreck by this time.
” Bloody Hell, Mother! I could do with a couple of those myself, now!!!
The rest of the journey passed uneventfully, it’s a good job really as I’m not sure my nerves would have stood any more excitement.
Life with Mother was always a roller coaster ride, she had more lives than your average cat and I’m certain she used up every one of them with escapades like this one.