The Evil Blue Buffalo Sets A Trap

My father-in-law, The playboy of the western world is coming home from the nursing facility today. I found a qualified caregiver who suits him, and that was a huge victory, let me tell you. And I did it all myself! Dang!

Spoiling this victory somewhat is that the final decision was put off until the last possible minute, so now I can't get ahold of the woman, and somebody else had to volunteer for Playboy-sitting duty as a result.

Between the yummy biker and his father you have a condition of avoidance that rivals the effect of heroin. Now I don't mean to say that these are inneffectual men; that they are most certainly not. What it is , is they both come from that german school of 'discussing money is not very nice.' Similarly, needing assistance in making important decisions is also not very nice and constitutes an imposition, and rather fall down a flight of stairs and starve to death in pain rather than impose, oh my God.

Now, I do not have this problem with the Playboy. We talk, and I make repeated stabs at the issue in question until I get a solid yes or no answer, then I make arrangements. When my husband or any of the Playboys' older buddies get in on the issue it becomes something on the order of the Marriage of fucking Figaro-four hours of yodelling with nothing to show for it but a sore ass. (That came out wrong but I'm leaving it in.) There were five people in on the interview of the caregiver, for example. Me, the yummy biker, the estate administrator, some painter guy with a tupperware container full of cheese that he kept passing around, and the playboy of the western world. and two orderlies who kept popping in to flirt. and the playboy's roomate, a drooly man in a wheelchair who watched these proceedings with evident amusement. and various nurses aides.

Yeah.

I gave up and let the poor woman take it all in, because it certainly represented a Taste of Things to Come. To her credit, she held up well. Of course now that doesn't matter because she could be in freaking Istanbul weaving goat fur into MiG parts or something for all I know.
But goddammit, I did my part. And I did it exceedingly well.

Some years ago this would have infuriated me, and I would have gone off on multiple rants about MEN and RESPONSIBILITY and THINGS ARE ONLY MADE WORSE THE LONGER YOU DITHER and like that. And I would have leapt right into the middle of this situation with full combat gear and the pin of a grenade clenched between my lovely straight teeth and TAKEN OVER FOR THESE INCOMPETENTS and FIXED EVERYTHING. And done it well, and pissed everyone off.

But you know what? Fuck 'em. There aren't any issues of diminished capacity here. I've done my part. If the playboy of the western world wants to die halfway between the dvd player and the couch with a copy of 'Back Entrance, Please' clutched in his hand because he forgot once again that he can't stand up fast, well thats his damn choice.

Yes, I'm worried. That never stops.





UPDATE!!
a super secret eyes only private message for frobisher:
regardez your email......
this could be the start of something big, baby.