My mom wants a Big Daddy. She's been longing for one all week.
There's snow in the forecast on Friday. That could interfere with our monthly trip to fork over my house payment. You know, in the town where all the magic happens. Where Mom pirouettes about Arby's, flashing a bit of flesh, informing the masses that she never goes out like this, and she is so embarrassed that she has a hole in the knee of her gray sweatpants.
I called Mom to suggest that maybe we should change our trip to Thursday. "The Pony can't come. He has an academic meet far, far away. I thought you might want to go in Arby's and eat a Reuben. Have you been seeing those commercials? I know how fond you are of Reubens."
"Well...what I would really like is a Big Daddy! I was going to ask you if we could pick one up for me when you let me ride along. All week I've been seeing the Big Daddy on TV. Piled high with all kinds of stuff. And chicken, too! They're on the Rally's commercial, and it just really looks good to me."
It's the least I can do, right? What if the snow comes Friday, and Mom can't get out of her driveway for ten days? At least she can live off the fat from her Big Daddy.
Today Mom went to pick up her recently-widowed sister-in-law from the nursing home, to take her to visit an old friend in another nursing home. They were going to do that last week, and also view an annual art show at the second nursing home, but signs were taped to the door warning of "stomach flu." The outing was tabled until that facility could convalesce its home back to a good bill of health. It just happens to be located in the bill-paying town.
I certainly hope Mom did not grab a Big Daddy without my supervision.