A Much-Needed, But Un-Asked-For, Gift

This Christmas season, Santa brought me a most wonderful gift: the true meaning of irony!

I might have mentioned yesterday how I took my mom to a doctor appointment on Christmas Eve day. Uh huh. And I promised to explain the meaning of the title, "A Lick and a Promise." Because, you know, my blog buddy Sioux would want to know. She's an aficionado of details like that.

After waiting an hour for her 10:00 appointment, and being seen by the nurse for five minutes, and the doctor for three minutes...I took Mom for a frozen custard. She doesn't get out much now, you know. And since I'm at work, we can't have our leisurely excursions like we used to on Bill-Paying Friday. I was not feeling up-to-snuff, but attributed it to the stress of finding out about this surprise appointment on Christmas Eve (did I mention it was on Christmas Eve?) when I really did not have four hours to spare in drive time and wait time for an appointment. On Christmas Eve. When I still had cooking to do, and every single one of the family presents to wrap, and a dinner party at 6:00. So I did not partake of a frozen custard treat. But Mom did.

In fact, Mom enjoyed the not-heaven out of that small vanilla custard cone. Her tongue was lapping so furiously at it that several blobs of frozen custard spattered onto her coat. Not that Mom even noticed. It was good to see her renewed zest for life...and frozen custard.

But that's not the story of The Lick part of yesterday's title. Nope. Not by a long shot. One might ASSUME that a tongue devouring the vanilla custard atop a cone was The Lick part of the title. But you know what happens when we assume.

Let the record show that Val is a good daughter, well on the way to returning to her five-dollar status, who dropped her mother off at the entrance to the hospital/medical office complex. Mom went in with her stylish floral cane bought by Hick, and sat to wait by the elevators until I parked. We snagged an elevator by ourselves. Then Mom signed in (heh, heh, I first wrote "sighned") and sat down with me in a row of three chairs. Away from people. We don't like sick folks and their germs.

When Mom was called back, I accompanied her. Mainly for company. That's the basis of the word ACCOMPANIed, you know. Between the nurse's inspection and the doctor's visit, it happened.

I looked over to my left, to speak to Mom, and caught her LICKING HER FINGERS AND WIPING THE CORNERS OF HER MOUTH, AND HER LIPS, WITH HER FINGERTIPS! The fingertips that had already touched chair arms in the lobby, the sign-in counter, the sign-in clipboard, the sign-in pen, and the chair arms of the waiting room!

"MOM! Stop that! How many times have I told you not to even touch your face until we get back to the car and use the Germ-X in my purse? I tell The Pony the same thing when we go in Walmart, and he plays that cesspool of a driving game while I check out. He listens. And neither of us have been sick all sememster."

Mom acted like I was overreacting. But she stopped. And when we got back to T-Hoe, I squooshed out that Germ-X before I took her for her small vanilla custard cone.

Later that day, Christmas Eve evening...I developed wheezing and a pain in my chest and a hacking cough. This morning it has moved up into my head.

THAT, my friends, is IRONY!

And the true story of The Lick.