Beer through a Tube

Saturday morning, Andrea walked into my office.

“WHOA! What happened in here?!” She asked, settling into my former office chair, and surveying the mess of papers spread across the floor.

“I know. You’re not supposed to say that - I’ll get it.” I wander out and hear Andrea talking back to her phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask from the other room.

“I’m learning Spanish - because I feel I should.” She replies before parroting her phone in Español. She adds that she decided last night.

“After watching 90-Day Fiancé?” I ask, thinking of the couple Kenny and Armando and Kenny’s abhorrent lack of Spanish although he moved to Mexico to be with Armando.

“Uh huh.”

Later, we’re in the car together and Andrea’s driving so I’m taking my overdue turns in Scrabble.

When I remark I’ve beaten Pablo, a regular I play at Scrabble, Andrea chirps, “Buenos dias, Pablo!”

We pick up a round of groceries for holiday baking. Later, Andrea’s placing some of them into the too small pantry and lets out a shriek.

“A can of cream of mushroom soup hit me in the face!” She yelps.

We apply ice but even still, it looks like she was sucker punched. Which, I suppose she was.

Today we have a call with an attorney to get our wills drafted. There are so many questions to consider. Andrea was vague with her request for “no life sustaining measures” so discussion ensues. Later, after the call, she says, “You knew what I meant – if I had to drink beer through a tube, forget it. I mean – that is, if they even allowed me to drink beer in my vegetative state.” So there's that. It's good to be specific about such matters.