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May 23, 2001
On hot days one loses one's ambitions.
On a weekend with the temperature at 100, I become
a couch slug - only because that's where the only room air conditioner
in the house is located. Otherwise I would not leave my bed. Actually,
in the house in San Diego, there is a room air conditioner mounted right
above where my bed was. It was there because I was having hot flashes
and thought it was just warm at night. Pre estrogen. But it was great
for warm days when I wanted to be in bed with a book. Those days were
rare. Because it drove my sons mad. They would be ordered out of the room.
I would snarl on hearing knocking on my door. I emerged only long enough
to throw a sandwich together and make myself coffee or tea and then back
to bed. Of course, they have radar - they always get through the door
6-10 pages before the end of the book.
And cackle about it.
My younger son keeps up the tradition. So I read
fast.
It doesn't matter. As I said, they have radar. I
occasionally try anyway.
This is one of those days. Shuck the chores.
I grab a book (Spirit Sickness) and read, read, read.
My son has a rape whistle (works better than a walkie-talkie)
for when he desires food or other attention. He always checks the page
count when he does this. And laughs.
Otherwise, I do not move.
I was flopped on the couch reading when some door
to door jerk had the temerity to tap on my sliding glass door. (I have
a door bell - at the front door.)
How rude!
My cat has developed a knack for dropping the drape
with a paw swipe and I was in a sheer nightgown.
I fled the room.
I put on my XL Danskin (loose) gym clothes. Comfort
is always a priority.
And when I had determined that the rude person had
departed up the street to bother other neighbors, I re-flopped.
My younger son prefers an even more casual approach
to heat. One favored by many cancer chemo patients.
He simply flings off all of his clothes and sits
around with a sheet loosely draped.
Maybe the sheet is draped.
This can be alarming if he rolls over and forgets
to adjust the sheet. There's a lot of him to cover.
Mooning mother is not a good idea. Not when you weigh
in at 236.
I spot this when I wander down the hall to see about
the lastest whistle. It leaves me slightly stunned. All that white flesh.
He thinks nothing of it because, after all, I am
still the one who bathes him - he can stand in the shower - or sit on
a bath chair - but I wash his back and his legs. He washes the nether
regions.
Interestingly enough, with all we've been through,
I have managed not to touch certain parts of his anatomy. If he is conscious,
he gets to do it. When he was too weak or not conscious, the nurses did
that part.
It's a line I drew.
Left him some dignity.
It preserved our relationship.
So, I react when I get mooned. Needs must is one
thing, but this is ridiculous.
He knows this. It amuses him.
I threaten to retaliate.
A nearly 60-year old woman who is very much overweight
is not a pretty sight when naked. I start to remove my gym clothes.
It is enough.
He puts his sheet back on.
I even got him back into underwear.
I win.
Of course, when he got me I was 10 pages from the
end of my murder mystery.
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