Driving The Bertinator
I’m in Illinois with my mom, Roberta, whom we affectionately refer to as “The Bertinator”. She had a cataract removed from her right eye this morning which is a surprisingly quick process. Her eye clinic runs the show with military precision, churning through milky, aged eyes at a pace that is remarkable. I hung out in the waiting room - - my brunette head in a sea of whites and grays.
My mom resides in a condo complex that’s for people 55 and over. Way over. Yesterday, my mom said to me in hushed tone, “We had one person…they were decomposing!” Later in the day, my mom didn’t show up for a meeting and people immediately reached out to her. “See?!” I announced. “You wouldn’t rot!”
“Well….Not for long.” My mom agreed.
I drove my mom home from her appointment today. Safety, and what not.
“Is that cop pulling me over?” I murmured, peering into the rear view mirror, signaling and pulling over.
Yes. Yes, he was. Apparently, I was going 49 in a 30. Can we talk about how ridiculous a speed limit 30 is for a 4 lane road? Clearly, the police officer thought the same so I escaped with a written warning as a souvenir of my trip to Illinois. I’m glad he was reasonable or I was going to have to cry while patting my aged mom on the knee lamenting about the surgery she JUST HAD and how I was eager to get her home to rest. Really, I was eager to get us to breakfast as we’d left the house at 545 AM to get to the cataract cattle call.
Tomorrow I am driving Miss Daisy to her follow up appointment. SSSSSLLLLOOOOOWWWWWLLLLY.