Thursday, April 28, 2011

How Not to Save an Old Lady

     So there we were, DH and I, heading to Lowe's to price riding lawn mowers, (his baby, not mine), when I notice a car with a flat heading into the parking lot.  The driver looked like an elderly woman with red hair, so I said, "aww J, (DH), let's go help that poor lady, (she said she was 89); I'll bet she's like mom and all flustered with that flat."

     We get out the truck and after the customary greeting and, "oh my gosh I have a flat" conversation J heads to the trunk and retrieves a spare, a jack, and a lug nut remover thingie.  All I can think as I watch him go to work is, "Gawd there goes the new shirt I gave him for Easter."  Apparently he was thinking the same thing because the tire was held as far away from his body as he could manage.  On his hands and knees he starts to loosen the lug nuts when he realizes that she has a, "locking lug nut," which apparently needs a special lug nut remover thingie.  Of course we couldn't find this much needed thingie and so we go on to plan two.  Call someone for help.

     The problem with plan two was that J wanted to go out for breakfast and when he's hungry, really hungry, he doesn't want to wait for anyone or anything.  J left home without his phone.  I left home without my phone.  And of course the elderly woman didn't have a cell phone.  So we stand there a few moments feeling stupid.  We're a couple of regular superheros, can't change a tire, can't make a phone call, so we go to plan three which is to offer her a ride to the Council on Aging, which was where she was going when she got the flat.  So with plan three agreed upon, we unload her walker and take her over to the truck.

     The problem with putting an eighty-nine year old woman in a large pick up truck with no running board, is that she can't step up into the thing.  J and I stand by and watch her struggle to get in and when he sees she isn't going to make it he leans over and in a desperate sort of way whispers to me, "you are going to have to pick her up."  The heck I am.  This woman is 5'6" inches tall and I'm 4'9" inches tall.  If I twist funny my back goes out and he knows it.  He just feels weird having to pick this lady up and figures he'd put it off on me.  In hind sight this putting it off on me was probably the better option, but hind sight is 20/20.

     Well, poor J tells the lady he's going to give her a boost into the truck and without thinking crouches and, well, sort of puts his hands under her butt and pushes upwards.  I don't know who was more shocked, him or her and after the first couple of exclaimations J put her down, but not before she lost her wig.  Apparently our red headed old lady was actually a white haired old lady.   Poor darlin' she was just so flustered after losing her wig and having some guy grab her rear and yet was very nice to us anyways.

     We eventually found something to use as a step, and I told her not to worry about the wig and that there was a mirror on the sun flap.  Unfortunately she didn't use the mirror and just jammed the wig back on her head sideways.  When we took her to the Council on Aging she was really sweet and thanked us and said for us not to worry that her son would come take care of the car when she called him.  I went in to make sure they would let her use the phone because I felt like we were dropping a stray kitten off at the pound.  I kept repeating to myself that she had food, water, and air conditioning and would be fine until her son came for her.  Then I thought perhaps it was for the best because once her son found out J grabbed his mother's derriere causing her to loose her wig, who knows what would have happened.  I mean for all we know he could have been some seven foot tall two-hundred fifty pound gorilla with an anger management problem.

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