I got a most unusual phone call early one morning last week, and it was from Suzanne. She had been in her office for about 20 minutes when she called. My phone announced who was calling me, and as I searched the living room for where I had set down my ringing gadget, I figured Suzanne was probably calling me to say she’d left something home that she needed me to bring to her office. Suzanne forgetting something she needs is a rare happening, but it has happened on occasion. No bigly deal. Having found my phone, I answered it. I heard breathing, but no words. After a few moments, I heard mumbling that vaguely sounded like it came from Suzanne. She spoke in slow motion. It sounded like she was drunk—2 or 3 times over. Sloshed Suzanne. But how could that be? It was a tad after 8:00 AM, and she had seemed just fine when she left the house only a half hour before. With tortoise-like slowness and inebriated-sounding slurring, Suzanne said, “Will you go upstairs and check to see if I took my night medication instead of my morning medication?” I checked out her medication organizer and, sure enough, her morning meds for the day were still there. She had, in fact, taken her night meds instead. The PM meds had an obvious soporific effect on Suzanne—which is fitting for bedtime, but not for the start of the work day. I told Suzanne she would not be driving home, but that I would come fetch her from work immediately. By the time I got to her office about 15 minutes later, Suzanne was unable to walk on her own. Two of her colleagues had to help her get downstairs and out of the building. Likewise, it took them both to get her propped upright in my truck. Suzanne seemed every bit the drunkard. She tried to speak as I drove homeward, but I couldn’t understand most of what she slurred on and on about. I did understand her ranting at the creeping UTA bus in front of us as it was going 10 mph below the speed limit for no reason at all. (I was ranting the same rant in my head.) I got her home and up the stairs. I managed to pull off her boots and help her finagle her drowsy bones into the bed—where she slept and snored for the rest of the day. When Suzanne woke up, everything was back to normal—except it was almost bedtime, which meant it was almost time for her to take her night meds again.
If I get my way, Suzanne will alter her meds logistics, so the AM and PM meds are no longer in the same pill organizer or even in the same room. You live, you learn. Suzanne’s meds incident is now firmly in the past—no harm, no foul—and we find it merely an amusing anecdote from the little “book” we’re living, which we like to call THE CHRONICLES O’ HELANNE (“Helanne” is our self-designated “famous couple name,” like Bennifer or Brangelina). Suzanne’s meds faux pas was simply a could-have-been-worse occurrence neither one of us wishes to be part of again. You think I’m a circus to live with? Clearly, living with Suzanne is never boring either. I mean—she made an entertaining not-drunk drunk without even being conscious she was putting on a show. And it was a riot.
FYI When I see a cap such as this, I expect to see a pompom. A hat of this ilk is incomplete without the jaunty flair of a poof ball. A pompom is this hat’s punctuation mark.
