Photo by Francisca Ulloa
Happy birthday. For your celebration, come in and get your boobs squished into a freezing cold vice. We’ll tell you if you have cancer.
Free Mammogram
I got a birthday card in the mail. It says, happy birthday, and contains information about receiving a free mammogram. That is quite possibly the most unexpected birthday gift I’ve ever received.
Don’t get me wrong. I know this is actually a valuable gift. Prevention is good. But really, my birthday is a downer. I just paid my birthday tax. The State of Georgia also says happy birthday. For your birthday, you pay the property tax and tag fee on your car. So this week I pay a tax and there is the free mammogram?
Ick.
Regifting
My birthday is Sunday, the fourth. Generally it is best ignored. Because receiving a regift wrapped in Christmas paper because that is what people can afford, is well – a card or simple happy birthday voice mail is much better.
Okay, so that’s my, please ignore me if you can’t say something nice on my birthday even if you are an institution rant. Taxing me and offering a medical procedure is not included in “nice.”
Grandma Update
Grandma is herself mentally and linguistically. I spent fifteen minutes telling her that DD had a playdate with her friend E. Grandma was confused by the name, didn’t understand that E is a person. Once that was settled, I spent several more minutes explaining that E is a girl and her brother G is a boy. Clearly, names that are not gender specific are lost on Grandma. It is not a trend that she likes.
Physically grandma is not the best. She claims she is well. Because she is well in spirit (see above). I can no longer call at any time of day or evening with any certain that I won’t wake her up. The oxygen isn’t really working so well. And she just doesn’t sound well (her voice, not what she says).
Grandma and her Male Suitors
Grandma went to a holiday party that the little greek man threw. I said, “You rejected him, then went to his party?”
She said, “Well, lots of people were there.”
I said, “Grandma, you were there.”
Weirdly, she had no response to that.
Her old boyfriend, J, also called. She said, oh, it’s nice that he called, I thought he might be dead.
I asked whatever happened to D, who stopped calling, so she thought he was dead. She said, oh yes, definitely dead. I asked how she found out. She said she doesn’t remember, somebody must have called her back.
Poor guy, he even asked her to marry him one last time. She said she could never marry an Italian-American man: too possessive.
When I told her about the free mammogram she said, well, at least when you don’t call me back right away, I don’t think you’re dead.
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