I am off to the “Pump Room” today and I hope that she is there. Lets call her “Penelope”.
What a hoot!!! All of five feet; her feet dangle above the floor when she sits in the treatment chair. She has to be pushing seventy. Her thinning, dyed hair, white perfect upper dentures overpowering her faded, lower, natural teeth and sparkling eyes that seem to make the room dance. And what a flirt.
We are a bad combination. Did I mention her hearing and memory are not the greatest? If she is there, I will walk over to her and say, “Hey, gorgeous, come here often?” She will light up, pierce me with those eyes and blind me with that smile and half-truthfully say “Do I know you?” Then without missing a beat she add “I think I should get to”, and pats the arm of her chair, inviting me to sit down. It goes on from there. The nurses just roll their eyes.
When her sister is with her it gets better. They have regaled me for hours with stories of their escapades as young girls, living in a low rent apartment building near the dockyard. Stories of secret passages that they could crawl through to get to the dance hall. There they would watch the sailors and their lady friends dance the night away, while trying to come up with a story to tell their parents when they went back. Brilliant.
A little sunshine is a good thing. And I hope Penelope is there to provide it.