It's Tiring But It's a Good Thing

How can you get so tired doing absolutely nothing? Yet, every time Plot and Duck get home from a few days in Stiletto City, where they do little but sit on the sofa and watch Mummy P. try to get comfortable, they each feel like they've been hit by a truck and thrown onto the off ramp.

She's such an actress. it was her birthday on Thursday and Plot sat there watching her field telephone call after telephone call, sounding upbeat and strong-voiced into the receiver. Each person got off the phone saying to themselves: "My! For 97, she is really doing great!"

What they don't know is -- well, let's just say she's a good actress.

Plot and Duck hadn't been to Stiletto for over a month. Lilian helped her up so she could be standing when they walked in to the kitchen, but when Plot saw his mom shakily supporting herself by leaning against the counter, having lost at least fifteen pounds since she fell in June, dressed so nicely and hair styled, but clearly smiling only on the outside, all he could think was "oh, crap. She's wasting away." When he hugged her Happy Birthday they both held on to each other for a little extra. You don't hide those kinds of things.

So we scale down our expectations another notch or two. And she looks good, when she is feeling a little better. And she does love to open her presents.

Yesterday, Plottie actually managed to get her out of the house and over to Cantor's for a corned beef sandwich. It was to be her birthday lunch, since she hadn't been able to actually leave the house the night before for what was supposed to be her birthday dinner. The lunch at Cantor's -- well, would you have expected a huge traffic jam in front of the Hollywood Bowl at 1 o'clock in the afternoon on a Friday?

All right, on the count of three, everyone who lives in Stiletto City say: "Well, Duh."

Ducknik was stuck in the back seat. Plotnik could see she was steaming and Mummy P. broke the existing land record for the most times a passenger has complained about the pain while simultaneously asking if the driver had any idea where he was going?

"Why won't you tell me where we're going? Oh, I know. It's one of those, you know, Chinese places."
"No, it isn't."
"Oh, not Chinese, but, Asian, Japanese, that food you like."
"So do you."
"So that's where we're going?"
"No."
(steam released from back seat)
"Do you have the slightest idea where you're going?"
"Yes."
"Ouch. You just drove over a bump. It hurts."
"Mom we're stuck in a traffic jam. We haven't moved in five minutes."
"Why not? You don't know where you're going, do you?"
(steam released from back seat)
"Ouch, another bump."
"You should get LA to fix the roads."
"Oh, so yours are so much better?"
"Actually, they're 'way worse."
"Do you know where you're going?"
"Yes."
"Why won't you tell me where we're going?"
"Because if I tell you, you'll say no."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know."
"Ouch, you went over a bump."
(steam released from back seat)
"I want you to tell me where we're going."
"OK, OK! Achmed's Muslim Carry Out. Dog Our Specialty."
"Oh, ha ha."
"You're laughing."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"Ouch, a bump."

She told Plot and Duck at least -- count 'em -- at least a hundred times how happy she was they had come down from Saint Plotniko for her birthday. The first ten times it was nice to hear. So for The Great Plotnik, the bottom line is this: he knows his mom is now 97 years old. For the first 94 years or so, she fooled him too. But now he knows. He hates that this is true. He guesses this is why he feels so exhausted today.