This blog is in danger of turning into a blog about my mother and the dementia that rules both our lives. I don't want that to happen.
But occasionally something funny will happen. Sort of funny. Okay, funny and frustrating in equal measure.
And I am here to inflict it on you.
My mother wears slippers something like these, but in a tan colour and in much clearer focus:
|Giving new meaning to the phrase "fuzzy slippers"
Never mind that they are completely unsupportive of her poor, bunion-deformed feet; they are what she wants to wear and have I ever mentioned that my mother is
contrary an independent thinker?
So when the bottom started wearing off one of her current slippers, I started hunting for a replacement pair.
The reality of living in a small town where retailers have melted away over the years means that I had two stores to buy from, WalMart and the dollar store. The upside of buying dollar store slippers, by the way, is that no two pairs are exactly the same length, due - I assume - to quality control issues. Because dollar store quality.
Since the dollar store slippers cost only $3, I bought the two pair that looked largest for their stated size and took them home for her to try on.
She tried the first pair on and they fit!
But they were pink, so she wouldn't wear them because she didn't want to get them dirty.
The other pair, which was black, did not fit; they were just a bit too short.
I went back to the dollar store and bought another two pair, both in dark colours. They had gotten fresh supplies in and there were more to choose from.
Neither pair fit.
So then I went to WalMart and bought another black pair in her usual size and a pair in a larger size.
The usual size was too short and the larger ones fell off when she walked.
Finally the bottom fell off her old slipper completely, and she was walking on the felt inner layer, which was very slippery. After some
heated arguing back and forth I took she allowed me to take those slippers home to put in the garbage (I was afraid if I left them in her garbage she would dig them back out and take a fall while wearing them) and she found an old, too-short pair of slippers in her closet to wear until ... well, until a miracle happened, I guess.
Meanwhile, I had the bright idea that if I washed the too-short WalMart slippers and then put a slightly larger pair of shoes inside them while they dried, they might stretch enough to fit.
Today I took the stretched slippers to her to try on.
First I heard the story (and I can assure you it was not for the first or even the hundredth time) of how she is left-handed and therefore needs a larger shoe for her left foot and she has always had to buy her left shoes specially made (note: she has not) and where did I buy these slippers anyhow because she bought her last ones at the dollar store and they were the best slippers ever and the cashier gave her a third slipper because it was just lying around and the woman said she might as well have it. (I have actually looked in her closet for a third slipper to match the others but failed to find it.)
As she was talking, she was trying on the slippers.
At first she said they were too short. She was still sitting, and her feet were jammed forward in them, so I suggested she try walking in them.
Instead, she said maybe if she switched them to the opposite feet they might fit. Which she did. And they didn't.
The left one was still too short. Cue the story of the dollar store slippers again.
I suggested again that she try walking in them. Again she responded by switching the slippers to the opposite feet.
Still too short. What are the odds, people? Cue the story of the dollar store slippers AGAIN.
Finally she switched the slippers to the opposite feet again and announced that . . . THEY FIT!!!
It was like a comedy routine except my head hurt by the time we were done.
I am under no illusion that the slipper saga is over yet, and fully expect that when I visit her at suppertime to do her eye drops she will be wearing the old ones and trash-talking the new ones. Meanwhile, a perfectly-fitting pair of pink slippers languishes in her closet.
Also in footwear-related topics, the geriatric doctor has just recommended she be fitted for supportive shoes for indoor and outdoor use.
Another hurdle to jump. She doesn't believe in indoor shoes, because slippers are easier to put on and shoes track in dirt. You and I both know that the solution to the dirt problem is to buy two pair, one for inside and one for outside. But it will be hard enough to get her to buy one pair, let alone two.
The geriatric doctor likes to tell caregivers that they can blame him for anything the dementia patient gets upset over. He chuckles indulgently and says he doesn't mind being the bad guy. I refrain from telling him that my mother doesn't give a sweet care about whether he says to do something or not.
She is, my friends, an independent thinker.
Funnies! Let us have some.
Today's theme is signs, because all the signs above point to Donkey having a mental breakdown and I want to replace those signs with better ones.
(I believe El Arroyo is a Texas restaurant. I don't know how the food is but the sign person is to be commended.)
Hope you're having a good week, in spite of the craziness that's going on in the world.